Unaffordable
by LowBreeze
Summary: Nothing in life is free. Someone, somewhere will have to pay in someway. This applies to a little thing called Love. Whoever said love doesn't cost a thing must have been insane, because it may be just the most expensive thing in a lifetime.
1. Chapter 1

_Nothing _in life is _free_. Someone, somewhere will have to _pay _in someway. This applies to a little thing called _Love_. Whoever said _love doesn't cost a thing_ must have been _insane_, because to Natasha Flagg and Shane Grey, it may be the most _expensive _thing.

* * *

**Natasha's Point Of View**

"...Natasha! Order up!"

My head shot up from resting on my forearm, the hopes of getting at least a two-minute break completely ruined. I swept the room for the usual crowd of people sitting in the restaurant. Only about ten or twenty relatively old customers eating their early dinner in peace. The place was kind of dead at the moment, but that's only because it's the hour before our busiest rush of people pouring in for dinner after work.

Seriously, why couldn't they do the normal thing and pull up to a drive thru? It would've definitely save me the trouble of weaving in and out a maze of tables, taking orders with a fake smile I could miraculously poof up at that very second.

I mean, being a waitress was a pain, but I dealt with it. I chose not to go to college after high school. It was a personal decision, but it wasn't set in stone until my father died just months before graduation. I felt obligated to take care of my mourning mother since she was so in love with him. Giving up my college tuition to pay for his funeral was not a big deal.

It wasn't. At least not to me.

It's not like I had dreams of being something other than some low-wage worker in some dinky town. Instead, I spent most of my slow-churning hours at Mahogany Cork, a somewhat fancy restaurant that is lenient on the attire worn, working to the bone from the crack of dawn to the greeting of the night sky.

What a way to live…

Or die, in my case. "Natasha! Where are you?!" That squeaky call coming from behind swinging doors was my boss, Derek. Surname: Devil. The one who never tires of dogging me about orders that clearly someone else nearby can handle. Yet he's also the one who signs my paycheck, so there's some balance in there somewhere.

"I'm coming, Derek…" I groaned while lazily pushing myself out of one of the comfy, crescent-shaped booths hidden in the back of the restaurant for the special VIP customers. Those kinds of tables weren't mine to wait on. My designated area consisted of the never-ending stream of people bound to come in sometime soon. While readjusting my plain, but velvety, red skirt for my uniform appearance, my feet took me toward the dangerous swinging doors.

One would think those doors were padded with a quilted cushion that matched all of the waiters' uniforms for decoration. But the truth of it was the pads stitched to the doors with gold thread were simply there to prevent any head-slamming accidents that could pin the restaurant with any liabilities. Oh, of course. Derek was just looking out for us.

"Natasha, these plates need to go out to table four." Speak of the Devil. "And while you're out there, table eight needs drink refills, table one has kids that are bothering table two, and table six have been waiting for someone to take their orders."

"Sure, Derek." Just like that, I complied to his demands. While I struggled balancing two wide trays full of food, he just stood there, not offering at all to help. Instead, to make it look like he was actually busy, he began folding and rolling eating utensils into cloth napkins. It took a lot out of me to bite my tongue and forget to mention how difficult it must be for him to _not _do any real work.

On my way out of the kitchen, I hid the severe rolling of my eyes. The plates clattered against each other from being overlapped to save some space as I strolled down the wide aisles. Countless hands vaguely rose in the air, motioning for attention even if it was clearly obvious that I was already busy waiting on another table. Back and forth, I was tugged for orders, to repeat today's specials, to fetch the bill, to collect barely touched food, and other monotonous chores. It was only two hours into the busy part of the night, and I was already spent.

I held my plastered smile until I made it to the complimentary bar in the side of the restaurant. There sitting without a care in the world, feet propped up on the nearest stool and hands cradling the back of her head, was Charlie. "Tonight's pretty busy, right?" She tilted her head to the side to inspect the place. My lower level of tables had every seat filled while her assigned tables were empty. No doubt would the only job she would receive tonight was to wipe those tables clean of the dust that was collecting on the tabletops.

"You have no idea, Charlie." I knocked her relaxed feet off the stool and took a seat for the first time since my five-minute nap. "But at least I know I'll get some tips out of all of this. More customers mean more pocket change."

"That's the spirit, Shay." Where she got that nickname, I have no idea. But it's grown on me. "Keep thinking of it that way. Before you know it, it'll be time to close up and head home."

I half smiled at her optimistic statement. "Right. Home."

"NATASHA!"

My hand slapped my forehead and dragged down my cheek, accentuating the frown that crept onto my face. With a little facial exercise, my tip-persuading smile was back on. I hoped my straight posture could convince Derek that I was pleased to see him come from behind the bar, even though he didn't look too happy to see me. "What's up, boss?"

"What, dare I ask, are you doing?" He rose a stern eyebrow.

My gaze shifted from side to side, slightly confused since it was visibly obvious what I was doing. "Nothing..."

"I don't pay you to do 'nothing.'" He held out a white cloth and crumb scraper. He couldn't be serious. But of course, he shook the objects in midair, insisting I knew what to do with them. "Table three."

I easily grabbed the white cloth, but I willed for my hand to take the crumb scraper. What a lowly chore it was to spend twenty back-breaking minutes picking off every single bread crumb on the tablescape. If I were to leave even one speck on the table, Derek would notice and scold me for not doing the job right. So it was either a spotless tablecloth or a sit-down lecture. And what kind of sane person would choose the second option?

I trudged to the not-so-far table over by blinded windows and knelt onto one of the seats to get a better reach of things. My eye caught the full moon out through the blinds and I found myself sinking into a fully seated, and comfortable, position. The stars shone through bushels of tree branches, like little night lights in the dark sky. The leaves shook in the light breeze created by the few passing cars. Most of which belonged to the wealthy social class of the economy, since no one of the lower class could afford the pint-sized portioned food served here.

The vision of it all lulled me into a dream-like state, something that crossed my path frequently.

_Summer. What a bust._

I couldn't believe I actually spent my summer in a restaurant, working my butt off until the day's end. And for what? To survive on a paycheck that barely made it past minimum wage and lousy tips from stingy customers who refused to follow the server's tradition of fifteen percent. I could've been loading my bags into a car that was headed for college, but no. Instead, I was loading dirty dishes into a massive dishwasher that didn't do too good of a job for what it was worth.

"Natasha! Tables!" As usual, Derek's irritating squeaky voice brought me back down from my moment of peace. I rolled my eyes from behind the safety of the tablecloth before whipping off the bread crumbs and food remnants. My hands placed themselves on my hips as I huffed with accomplishment. _There. That wasn't so hard, now was it?_

My hands clapped together to remove any sticking crumbs on my palms and pulled out my handy pad and pen, more than ready to take a stream of orders from the dinner rush. I sped through table after table, listing the chef's specials and doing the best I could to make the customer feel welcome. Even if they did come off as snobby people who were ungrateful of the service.

"Shay!" Charlie whispered behind me, but I kept my smile on and glanced at my currently full table. "You have to help me!"

"Not now, Charlie." I whispered through clenched teeth. "I'm busy."

"Please?" She dug her elbow into my spine rather than into my side. I held back my painful grunt.

"If you will excuse me..." I bowed my way out, dragging Charlie along with me. She tripped and stumbled over the legs of chairs, all the while apologizing to each and every person. We managed to make it behind the area where the dirty dishes were collected. "Thanks, Charlie. You just gave the table I was waiting on a reason to deduct my tip." I tip toed over the mountain of plates to find the couple I was serving with slight stink eyes and shaking heads.

"I know. I'm sorry." She lamely apologized. "But I just got my first set of customers of the night."

"Yeah, so?" To make my time more productive, I began to roll up eating utensils in cloth napkins before we ran out. "Am I supposed to congratulate you or something?"

"They're famous people!" She exclaimed in a hush voice. "You know, like people from the red carpet!"

"Big whoop." I shrugged my shoulders. "We get rich people in here all the time, Charlie. You know that."

"But they're _celebrities_, Shay." She emphasized the word as if it's supposed to mean something. "_Celebrities_."

"There's a point to this whole thing, right?" I rolled up my sleeves and pushed back my lifeless, pin straight, jet black hair before digging into a plastic bucket full of ice. I risked the frostbite feeling to reach for the fork that I idiotically dropped a second ago. "Because I'm busy, Charlie. And my shift's almost over, so..."

"You know how star struck I get, Shay. I'll be like a deer caught in the head lights in front of them." She widened her green eyes at me while hysterically running her hands through her red hair. "Come on. Please?" She let loose her pouty expression to lure me in.

Unfortunately, I was too easy to persuade. "Fine." I threw my last rolled up bundle into a drawer underneath the table. "But only with the food. You have to take their orders first. It'll look awkward if I'm just standing there beside you."

"But Shay-"

"But, nothing." I collected a number of plates and tucked them under my arm to make it seem like I was exiting the area with a finished task. "I'll be waiting my tables. I can feel the tips slipping through my fingers as we speak." I swung my arm in the direction of her assigned booth tables. "Your customers await you, Charlie. Don't want to keep them waiting."

"If anything goes wrong, Shay, I swear." She shook her head to prepare herself for what's to come.

"You'll be fine." I reassured her as I walked backwards with a mental GPS of where to turn at the right time without bumping into anyone. I'd been working at this restaurant for so long, I knew which chair had a missing screw or a scratch on the leather cushion. Without breaking the conversation, I placed the new plates on a recently cleaned table and readjusted everything. "As long as you breathe and speak, you'll be fine. Oh, and don't trip or anything like that." I mocked her.

She scowled at me, but like clockwork, she tripped over the two steps onto her platform of tables. She glared at me even harder, but I just rose my hands up in defense. I spun back around and pulled out my trusty pen and pad of paper. I slightly bowed to the man of the table. "Good Evening, again. Would you and the miss like to order now?"

"Ah, yes. I would like to order the chi-"

_CRASH_

Like a reflex, my hand slapped my forehead and I shut my eyes firmly. Afraid of what I was going to see, I hesitantly opened one and found poor Charlie on the floor with broken plates and food all around her. Her mouth could've caught a fly from being wide open in shock. The full booth of people were snickering and chuckling at their personal entertainment, which made me hate celebrities even more.

--

"Oh, ew." I picked out a string of cheesy pasta out of her hair and threw it aside. I sat on top of a kitchen counter while she held a strong frown on her face in front of me. "I told you to be careful, Charlie. What happened?"

"I could've sworn that guy was hitting on me. Or flirting with me."

"Are you kidding me?" I cocked my head forward and stared at her skeptically. "You barely said a word before you made a mess of things. How could he possibly have hit on you in that short amount of time?"

"I'm telling you." She blew a puff of air upwards to shoo away loose strands of hair. "Deer caught in the head lights." She lifted her index finger to point at herself. "But thanks for helping me the rest of the night, Shay. I owe you."

I chuckled. "Give me your tips and we'll call it even."

"How about I'll cover one of your shifts sometime this week? I need the money anyway." She completely ignored my suggestion by replacing with one of her own.

"No way." I fervently shook my head and denied her offer. "I need the money more than you do. I can't give up any one of my shifts."

"Oh, right." She guiltily dropped her head at my reasoning. "Your mom."

"Yeah, let's not talk about it." I hopped off the counter and began to walk towards the swinging door exit to avoid the developing conversation. "Let's just go collect the rest of our tips and call it a night."

"I know I've said it before, but I'm sorry about your-"

"Oh look!" I deliberately cut in and jogged for the nearest table. "Two bucks! That's a little more than I usually get from the couple that eats at this table every Thursday night." For the rest of the night, I repelled myself whenever the topic was brought up. I didn't feel like talking about it. "You didn't get much, did you? I mean, you only served one table."

Charlie exaggerated her sigh as she solemnly walked down from her platform. She held a crumpled bill in her hand. "Twenty."

"Wait, twenty _dollars_?" I snatched the bill from her hand and rose it up to one of the table lamps. The watermark of the President appeared, clarifying it for me. After a few seconds of examining the twenty dollar bill, I slowly handed it back to her in realization. "Oh yeah. These are rich people we're talking about here. Twenty dollars is like a dollar to them."

She slumped into one of the table chairs in disappointment. "I could've easily gotten at least thirty dollars if I didn't spill-"

"Everything?" I finished her sentence for her. It made her shrink deeper into the seat. Like the good friend I was, I patted her back. "It's okay, Charlie. But if you didn't serve those kind of people and helped me with my area instead, then I bet you would've gotten more." I dug into my apron's pocket for my tips. "Look, I got about..." I counted the numerous bills and loose change on the table in front of us. My separating motions stilled when I finished counting. "...twenty dollars."

"That's it?" Charlie sorted through my pile of tips and counted again. "Man, after all of that work, you only got the same amount that I did?"

"I guess so..." I sighed before stuffing the money back into my apron. "But tomorrow's another day." The both of us walked together to the back exit of the restaurant, towards the employee parking lot. On my way out, I grabbed my old green college sweater hoodie. One more quick sweep of the closing restaurant and we locked up.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride home? It's pretty dark out." Charlie manually unlocked her cheap Volvo by stabbing her key into car door. It didn't look too dependable to ride in.

"Um, no. It's okay, Charlie." I stuffed my fists into my sweater's front pockets and headed for the main street. "My house is the opposite way you're going. I don't want to trouble you."

She stuck her head out of her rolled down window. "You sure?" A persistent girl, she was.

"Don't want to waste your gas money, right?" I reminded her.

"Oh yeah." She grimaced at the thought. "Okay then."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Charlie. Drive safe." I waved while she followed me down the alley. She returned the wave just before driving off.

* * *

**Shane's Point Of View**

"...Nice to meet you." I shook her hand. "I'm Shane Grey."

"Hm." She nodded with an impressive look on her face. Clearly she was holding back a smile. "Likewise. I'm Mitchie Torres."

"So, when can I see you again?" I wasted no time in asking her. "You know, since Camp Rock's over?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know." Her grin began to broaden as she continued to play along to the whole reintroducing concept.

After spending the whole summer talking to Mitchie Torres, alleged daughter of Hot Tunes China, I didn't know what to think. I thought she was a cool girl, one that I could talk to about things that I couldn't even mention in front of my brothers. Honestly, unless we were spilling out our guts into a song, feelings were absolutely off-limits among Jason and Nate. It'd just be awkward.

Anyway, it was nice to be able to talk. Just talk. None of that rockstar, popstar knowledge in mind. The first Mitchie I met stared me straight in the eye and told me she believed I wasn't a jerk. I, for one, knew that I was, but I wasn't too eager to prove her wrong. She understood me, and I thought I knew her. That is, until I found out about her little lie that had spread like wildfire in camp.

From that moment on, I was through with her and whatever lies she managed to spark up in the duration of the three months. I didn't care if she bragged how she hanged out with The Shane Grey. She could've told the whole world how I didn't truly know who I was, and how sad and pathetic I was. Whatever. I convinced myself that a girl like her wasn't worth thinking about anymore, and became strung up on who that girl with the voice was.

But when I discovered she was the girl with the voice, I knew it. To me, it seemed like fate. It was like fate was giving the both of us a second chance to reintroduce ourselves, as the real people we were.

I laughed, but was sort of confused from her answer. "You don't know?"

"Nope." She brushed by me, flashing me her brilliant smile. "I guess we'll see each other when see each other."

"Oh really?" I turned around to watch her head for the door.

"Really." She nodded confidently. "I'll see you around, Shane Grey."

--

"Dude, she so wants me." I pointed out while handing my luggage and things to the limo driver to put into the trunk.

"Who?" Nate inquired, opening the car door from the side. "The girl with the voice?"

"Do you even know her name, Shane?" Jason lugged the rest of my things into the car before climbing into the back seat. "I mean, you do have a reputation of liking girls, but having no clue what their names are."

I glared at him while I took the bench seat along the side of the limo. Nate sat in the other passenger seat besides Jason. "Yes, I know her name." I said in a way as if it was a 'duh' statement. "Mitchie Torres." I sighed dreamily, sprawling out along the length of the seat. I layered my hands to form a pillow behind my head.

Nate slammed his head into his head rest. "Oh God, don't tell me-"

"Tell you what?" I propped myself up on my elbows and scowled at him. "Tell you that I might actually have feelings for her? Because I do."

"Sure you do, Shane." Jason sarcastically sang. "And you're going to completely ignore that she might be another money-hungry-"

"Whoa!" I firmly cut in. "She's not like that. I _know _she's not." My outburst caused for my brothers to shut up for once. "She's completely down-to-earth and that's what I like about her."

"And how do you even expect to build this so-called relationship?" Nate's silence didn't last to long. It was unfortunate on my part. "She probably lives in another state or something. Somewhere far way from here, from Camp Rock."

"There's always the jet." I suggested my stroke-of-genius idea. "The moment I find out where she lives, I could fly out and-"

"Stalker." Jason coughed out the name, thinking he could get by without me noticing. Oh, I noticed.

"But how do you plan to do that, Einstein?" Nate sneered. He was really starting to get on my nerves. "You didn't even get her phone number."

"Hey, I-" I was incredibly ready to bite back, but I stopped myself when I realized he was right. "Dang."

"Face it, Shane." Nate shook his head in disappointment. "You might never see Mitchie again. Forget about her."

The car began to rumble, indicating we were on the move and leaving Camp Rock officially. We were going to stay at a nearby hotel for the meantime until our manager figured out our schedule for us. "I'm not going to, and you can't make me." I fell back onto my seat and relaxed into a comfortable position. "She's the girl with the voice and she's going to-"

Suddenly, the limo came to an abrupt stop, making me roll off the seat and onto the floor of the car with a loud thud. I groaned in pain when I ricocheted off the wall of the mini-fridge door.

"What the heck was that?!" Jason questioned the situation out loud and rolled down his window.

"HEY! WATCH IT!" A girl's voice yelled. "I'M WALKING HERE! EVER HEAR OF PEDESTRIANS HAVING RIGHT OF WAY!?" There was a loud slam against the car. I assumed she pounded her hands on the car in fury. I hurriedly sat up from my fallen position to look at the window as the driver started to move again. I climbed into the seat between Nate and Jason to get a better view of the psycho chick.

Out the window, there was a girl with a hardened expression across her face, her hands tightly forming fists. I could see her hot breath huffing out of her mouth in anger, but her body was probably shaking from only wearing that thin green sweater. I couldn't see her face from under her hood and long bangs.

She was kind of creepy.

* * *

**Natasha's P.O.V.**

"Jerk." I muttered to the car driving by. I only had to walk a few miles to get to my house, which I've done countless times before, and now someone chose to run me over? I scoffed in disbelief. In my mind, I imagined the hilarious headline. _Natasha Flagg: Death by Limo._

It took me a while, but I brushed the near-death experience off my shoulder and continued my walk home. It wasn't too far from the camp I was walking by. I would've driven home and relieved myself of walking about three miles along a gravel road, but I sold the car long ago. I needed the money to pay off whatever I could of our lake house bills.

It was a great house to live in, giving great consideration that my father built it up from scratch. We were the first to occupy the land near the lake, and I thought it was going to stay that way. But there had to be some stupid music camp built up across the other side of the water. The entire summer, I was forced to listen to their campfire songs and whatnot. They weren't exactly my choice of lullabies.

But trudged through it. That noise wasn't really reason why I had trouble sleeping at night.

As I approached my front door, ready to unlock with my keys in hand, there was a loud shatter that echoed inside. "LEAVE ME ALONE! WHERE IS HE?! WHERE'S PHIL?!"

_Oh no..._

I frantically made my way to the door and nervously rattled my key against the lock, frustration delaying me a few seconds. Once inside, I found pieces of glass laid out on the wooden floor. Everything in the living room was turned over, scattered, and disheveled. I slid my feet along the floor, careful not to step into any sharp shards of glass, and traveled into the other room.

I found a head floating behind the safety of my sofa. It gravitated upwards when I dropped my keys onto the counter. "Natasha?"

"Oh God, Mel." I raked my hand through my hair before pulling her up from her frightened fetal position. "What happened?"

"What happened?" She reflected the question back to me with incredulity. "I'll tell you what happened. Your mother-"

"GET OUT!" An object went flying across the room and Melanie ducked her head reflexively.

"I don't know how long I can do this anymore, Natasha. Your mom is going to kill me!" She began to gather her things on the table, some on the floor and hidden under the sofa.

"No, come on, Mel." I didn't know whether to stop her from leaving, or to get to my obviously hysterical mother. "You know I need you to watch her while I'm at work. No one else can."

"I don't know why anyone would." She touched the bottom of her lip to inspect if anything was there. "I'm leaving."

"Wait!" I mentally scolded myself for what I was about to do. I dug my hand into my purse and pulled out my bundle of tips and forced it into her hand. "Please, Melanie. My mom needs your help. I need your help."

She stared at money that I handed her before curling her fingers over it in acceptance. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Thank you." I shot her a grateful smile before she headed out the door. The very second she did, I carefully sidled around the corner and peered into the hall.

My mom. Curled up on the floor, rocking herself insecurely with fear in her eyes. I ran over to her and rubbed her arms in assurance. A smile broke out on her face. "Natasha. You're home."

"Hi, mom." Slowly, I pulled her up from the floor and sat her down on the nearest available seat. "Did Melanie give you your medication?" She firmly shook her head 'no.' "Okay, I'll go get it. Stay put."

I wandered into the kitchen and opened a few cabinets. Pushing aside the herbs and such, I found the specific pill bottle that I was looking for. As I picked it off the shelf, I froze to the sound it made. When I brought it to eye level, I carefully read it. _One every Twenty-four Hours._ Her anti-depressant. It made me depressed just looking at it. When I opened the lid and poured out its contents, all that fell into my hand were five white capsules. Only. Only five pills were left.

I balled my hand into a fist and shook my hand in realization.

_Better make these count.

* * *

_**(A/N: So... New story? It's too bad Fanfiction only allows me to choose two descriptive genres for the story. I was caught between Drama/Romance or Humor/Romance. So to satisfy my own needs, I decided to call it a Romantic Dramedy. You know, romance, drama, and comedy. Hopefully...  
**

**Do you like? It's been on my mind for a while, so I just wrote it. I don't know if it's interesting to you all, so I'll leave it up for a while. Let me know if you're interested.**

**Please Read and Review!)**


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N: Mrs-Selene-Potter-Malfoy, xxxIhEaRtDaNcExxx, PinkSprinkles, Waywa, Annie, Jonasluver15165, Alyssa4Music4Life, ilovestarbucks, 5tarRach6330, ilovelucas4lyf, shyper-ness, JBhearter12, Feebeauty, and xXx Aazeen xXx...**

**I know I have already mentioned you before in my other story, but I just want to say thank you again for reviewing the first chapter. You guys are awesome.**

**PS: shyper-ness, don't worry about getting shot; I'll do my virtual best to keep that from happening! XD)**

* * *

**Natasha's P.O.V.**

_Beep, beep, beep..._

My alarm. I swung my arm over to shut it up, almost knocking it onto the floor. I didn't even bother to look at the time since I knew very well what time it was: Time to get up, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, walk a few miles to work, and it sort of snowballs downhill from there. There wasn't much of a positive side to the whole thing, so it didn't take much for me to give up and curl back into my wool covers. As I turned over onto my side, the bed frame underneath my mattress groaned in protest, making its old age known to me.

I fisted a great amount of my blanket and hugged it to my chest, for it was unmistakeably freezing in my bedroom. The house wasn't insulated very well, so the chilly atmosphere outside seeped its way in through the hidden, unnoticeable, cracks in the walls. The wind whistled through the minuscule gaps during the night, the dim sunlight shone through my bare windows, the tree branches incessantly tapped on the glass and formed the dark silhouettes that danced eerily at midnight.

To an normal person, my bedroom might've seemed like it came straight out of a horror movie. The kind of room that would be a choice scene for the movie's murderer to kill his first victim, immediately setting its viewers in a state of apprehension and panic. Yet, in my perspective, I admired every single frightening detail about it.

The handmade armoirs, shelves, windowsill and door frame moldings. All were created in the hands of my skilled father. He made our house literally from the ground up, with very little help. That's where I got my independence from. He was the reason why I turned out the way I was; appreciative of what I owned at the moment, never dropping to my knees and begging for help, thoughtful about being practical rather than being a spendthrift, and always willing to offer help, never vice versa.

If only I knew whether or not my attributes were...worthwhile to have.

_RING, RING..._

And my second alarm. It was a necessity to program a secondary alarm due to my other characteristic of not being a morning person, much like my dad. I slammed my palm on top of the back up device and blindly stumbled out of bed. For all I knew, I was sleep walking during the entire thing since my mornings were monotonous and routine. Nothing out of the ordinary and plain, almost as predictable as the clouds that rolled in daily.

Just how I liked it.

After slipping on my daily work uniform and grabbing a planned granola bar from the kitchen cabinet, I peeked into my mother's room. She was sleeping soundly and a little sedated from her anti-depressant I managed to make her swallow the night before. I felt horrible about forcing her to take her medication when she clearly didn't want to--or never wanted to, for that matter--but it was for everyone's safety. Hers, mine, and Melanie's.

Who had yet to arrive. I impatiently paced in the living room, every now and then glancing out the window for her car to make sure that maybe I was too busy muttering to myself to hear her car roll up the gravel driveway. But every single time I checked, there was no vehicle to be found.

I tried breathing slowly, taking my time inhaling and exhaling, in order to calm myself. I hated being late for my shift since it meant deducted tip and possibly paycheck, depending on if Derek was in the money-taking mood. After another long fifteen minutes of glaring at the front door to chime or knock, I sighed with aggravation, burying my face into my hands.

"Natasha?" I startled from my tense stance when my mom emerged from her bedroom, the floor creaking beneath her with every step she took. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Mom." I relaxed my shoulders. I didn't want my stressing mood to reflect back on her. The last thing I wanted was to kick start a break down before Melanie arrived. "Everything's fine."

"Did you eat breakfast?"

"Yes, Mom." I glanced at my watch for the fifth time in the last ten seconds.

"Brush your teeth?"

I turned around to hide my rolling eyes. "Mhm," I mumbled, careful not to offend her. She had developed a case of being highly sensitive to everything, so I had to choose my words with caution whenever I spoke to her. One wrong word or phrase could set her off into hysteria. "Mom, you should go back to sleep. Melanie isn't here yet." I waved my hand, hopeful that she'll take the hint from the sheer blow of air I gusted at her.

"Melanie?" Her tired age started to reveal itself when she furrowed her eyebrows, several wrinkles forming on her forehead. "The nice girl who helped me with my photo albums?" At times, when her mind wandered off and her actions were uncontrolled, she usually forgot completely what occurred during that time. Evidently, she didn't remember throwing one of those thick albums across the living room floor.

"Maybe." I shrugged. I guided her back into her bed and she willingly obeyed, all the while smiling at me. "I don't know, Mom. I wasn't around." As soon as the hurtful words left my throat, I quickly added, "I was at work."

She remained silent as I tucked her back in, pulling the covers up to her neck. She still held that smile. "You know what?"

"What?" I tried to return a grin without showing any amount of sympathy in my eyes.

Her hand escaped from underneath the wool sheets and reached up to cup my cheek. "You remind me so much of him." My eyes blinked incessantly from the sudden distress on my heart.

My mouth delayed to fall open, the words difficult to form on my tongue. "Of who, Mom?" I played along for her sake since she looked so pleased to be telling me this fact, even though I already knew who she was talking about. The hard part of it was, I didn't want to be reminded of it or even hear it.

"Oh," she weakly laughed. "You look so much like your-"

_DING DONG!_

She probably said his name--I saw her mouth move with articulation--but my mind forced me to tune it out with the door chime. I choked back my relieving sigh. "That must be Melanie." Gently, I set her hand back down as if she was fragile and frail. In a certain way, she was.

My legs swiftly carried me to the front door faster than necessary. Without bothering to check through the small peep hole, I yanked the door open. Melanie flinched at my abruptness. "Oh jeez..." She rolled her eyes and patted her chest. "Natasha, don't do that to me. It's already nerve-wracking that I'm actually here again."

"And I can't thank you enough." I kept my attention towards her as I walked backwards in search of my purse and green hoodie. It was only to make sure she wasn't going to make a run for it if she decided to change her mind at the last minute. I was already late enough as it was.

My fingers scratched the surface of the table where my keys laid, right where I left them the night before. After checking on my mom one more time, ensuring her returned slumber, I leisurely closed the door to her room. "You know," Melanie spoke up behind me as I jogged into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets for that specific, and all-important, bottle. "You should really consider committing her."

My head turned tentatively and looked over my shoulder, my sight falling to the counter. "What are you talking about, Mel?"

"I'm talking about a place that could take care of her." Forgetting about time for a second, I stared at her, struggling to comprehend her words. Yet, somehow, they seemed so clear and familiar. "Like a home or something."

My arm dropped, gripping the pill bottle in both of my hands in front of me and leaning against the counter for support. "We-" I realized that the word wasn't exactly the right one to use in this conversation's context. "..._I _can't afford that right now."

Yes, I've thought about it. Many times, to be more specific. But money was tight already, trying to make ends meet, and I had so many other things burdening weight on my shoulders; work, bills, food. The only staples that I could handle at the time were overwhelmingly expensive, considering my pitiful paycheck. Any more, and I might have a meltdown myself.

"If you want, I could..." She knew me long enough that I despised any kind of charity, which was the reason why her words trailed off before she could finish her offer. I didn't need anyone feeling obligated or compelled to help, just because they thought they knew about me and my mother's unfortunate situation.

"Absolutely not." I shook my head, forcing into her hands the white plastic bottle. I desperately wanted to change the subject before she could pry anymore. "Remember: one after dinner." I brushed by her and stood at the open doorway, prepared to make my escape to the busy hustle of work where I didn't have any choice but to think about the day's specials. "The one I gave her last night should wear out by then." I warned her.

As if last night's example wasn't a visible word of warning already.

* * *

**Shane's P.O.V.**

God, it felt so good to be in a real bed. Thick cotton sheets, over-fluffed pillows, king-sized mattress. As opposed to that rectangular lump they pathetically called a bed at camp. No more bothering bug bites, no more scratchy sheer sheets that failed to keep someone like me warm at night, no more suffering nights without the help of a heater. If heaven had a sleeping headquarters for all of its occupants, then I was so sure that my hotel bedroom was somewhat close to it.

"Dude." But I could definitely go without someone waking me up harshly. I felt like my brain was just shaken in a glass jar when I was violently agitated awake on my shoulder. "Breakfast."

At that moment, I seriously thought that Jason had taken the place of our Uncle Brown. But at least he didn't greet me with pouring cold vase water down my neck. "Dude," I grumbled back into my pillow. "Sleep."

"Shane." When I blatantly ignored his call, Nate pulled my pillow out from under me and smacked the top of my head with it. "Wake up."

Regret knocked at my skull, mocking me for making the mistake of rooming with my brothers. There was no question that I wouldn't have gone through this infuriating excuse of a wake up call if I hadn't been so lenient with who I roomed with; I could've been enjoying the sweet silence that I longed for ever since we entered this small city. I guess silence and isolation was never destined for me.

I dug my frustrated fist into the mattress and shot up into a seated position. "What?" Through my disheveled hair, Jason and Nate had their mouths firmly clenched shut, letting out their obvious snickering through their noses. I glared at them severely while running my hands through my hair so that they had nothing left to laugh about. "What?" I asked again with a much more stern tone.

"I told you," Jason laughed out the rest of his unnecessary chuckles as he traveled across the hotel room. "We need to find a place to eat."

"It's not even breakfast anymore." Nate pushed back his jacket sleeve and checked his wristwatch. I would have to say that my silver watch was so much better than his genuine leather strap one. "It's practically brunch now, since you just had to sleep in."

"Hey," I shook a pointed finger at him. "You didn't have to wake up every single day during the Summer to teach some class, okay? My sleep was bound to catch up to me once the season's over."

Nate's face remained expressionless and blank. He rose his own finger to his face, pointing at himself. "Don't. Care." He reached for something at the foot of my bed and chucked one of my suitcase bags at me. I let out a struggled breath once the heavy object landed on my stomach, one of my eyes squinting. "Get dressed, Shane. Let's see if camp's really changed you or not."

The both of them walked away from me with unsure looks on their faces. They doubted me. They doubted that I've changed from my spoiled ways. They were skeptic about my transformed personality, they questioned my revolution from my qualities of being a jerk.

_All I have to say is that...I wouldn't bet against them._

Incredibly defeated by my own thoughts, I crawled out of bed and changed--into my clothes, that is. Not my personality like so many people, such as Mitchie Torres, I had convinced.

I took my time, easily ignoring the rolling eyes I was receiving from Nate and Jason. I had to make sure my appearance looked more than exceptional in the mirror's reflection since I expected ready photographers at the hotel's front door or lobby. It would be extremely unacceptable for them to see me so tired and miserable with myself and the thought of never seeing _her _again.

My brothers seriously took my intelligence for granted; there were paparazzi waiting for us downstairs like I knew they would be. It kind of irked me that they weren't very interested in me, though I just survived an entire summer at some 'life-altering' camp. Instead, they wanted to know about my brothers. I wanted to give them what they wanted, but I was only granted to answer a few of their questions before I was dragged off by the collar of my shirt. Apparently, neither Jason or Nate wanted me to talk about their personal lives and what my opinion was on them.

Whatever. Another day. There'd be another day.

I spent the entire ride to wherever we were headed underneath my shades, arms folded across my chest. The journey over didn't bother me too much. The driver could've been more careful and dodge the small potholes of the city streets, but I just wanted some sleep. Unfortunately, the seconds flew by behind my closed eyelids and the driver halted abruptly at the location.

I rubbed my eyes underneath my sunglasses before lazily unbuckling myself from my seat. Following Nate and Jason, I looked up at the overhanging sign. Mahogany Cork.

"What the heck is 'Mahogany Cork?'" My face contorted a bit with disgust. The name of the place didn't seem like it served appetizing food.

"'Mahogany Cork' is actually a good place to eat," Jason said as he was the first to enter through the door.

Nate placed his hand on the door to hold it open for himself so that it wouldn't hit him while he turned to me. "We _had _to find some place to eat while you were at camp. I didn't want to eat hotel food for three months."

"And _this _is the best place you could find?" My head swiveled up, down, left, right to analyze the restaurant's setting.

Well, red was everywhere. That part was obvious. Chairs, benches, selected tablecloths and cloth napkins, wall paper. Everything was embellished with the pigment, making it a little overbearing. Whoever decorated the place probably had no idea that mahogany was a reddish-brown, not altogether red. Surely the failed decorator did not own a single piece of clothing that he or she could compare to.

There were specks of gold carefully placed as minuscule dots on the wallpaper, which I could see was slightly bubbling with air in the corners. Unbelievable. The place was falling apart and I couldn't understand why my brothers took the risk of entering this death trap in the first place. For all I know, behind those walls were scavenging mice, or rats even, growing mold, and decaying wood support.

"Shane." Nate's warning tone implied that he already knew I was thoroughly scrutinizing the place in my mind. "Get used to it. We won't be leaving the city for a while." He didn't see me widen my eyes at him since he turned in time to direct his attention to the maitre'd. "At least not until we find out what our manager has in store for us," he added.

My head fell back in disappointment and my eyes followed the movement. All I could do was groan in protest. Another necessary verbal complaint erupted from my throat when I discovered we were in a formed line. A line! At a place like this, they should've at least acknowledged the presence of Connect 3 and put us ahead of everyone else. But no. There were a few people of in front of us, taking up my precious time of sleep.

"Torres." My head shot up when I heard the reservation name. "Party of three."

The host ran his old finger down a list of names written in a thick booklet. As if there were hundreds of people reserving a table at this place. "Ah, yes." The host nodded. "Here we are." He gathered the appropriate number of black leather menus into his arm, the other directing. "Right this way."

"Thank you!" That voice. I knew that cheerful, melodic voice.

"Mitchie?" I leaned to my side, pushing Jason out of the way to see better. It was easy anyway, since Nate and Jason were next up in line. I left them to do whatever they needed to while I anxiously followed that familiar cascade of brown hair. "Mitchie," I called again since she didn't hear me the first time. My reaching hand that touched her elbow helped me out a bit.

She turned around with a beautiful greeting smile. "Shane!"

"Hey!" I matched her surprised reaction since I didn't expect her to still be within the city's limits. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I don't know. Eating?" She sarcastically shrugged her shoulders, pouting her lips in contemplation. We definitely had to eat here more often. After a moment of acting, she straightened her composure. "What am I talking about? I should be asking you the same thing!"

"Same," I chuckled. "I thought it'd be a good idea to check out some of these restaurants." In an untimely manner, my brothers brushed by us, purposely walking into my arm, and snorted in disagreement. It took a lot of effort to ignore their actions, but I had to act civilized in front of her. "So, do you want to eat with us or something? We have plenty of room at the booth." I had to assume we were seated at one of the booths. If we were anywhere else, I'd have to walk out.

"Um," she paused, looking over her shoulder and waving to her parents who were sitting at a simplistic table. "Yeah, sure, I guess. I don't think they would mind."

We took our seats across from each other. She politely and timidly waved to my brothers, who I completely forgot to introduce. "Hi." Jason stuck out his hand since he was sitting right beside her. "Jason."

"I'm Nate." Nate did the same, briefly shaking her hand.

"Mitchie," she laughed uneasily. "Wow. Connect 3." She nodded with an impressed look on her face. How cute. She was starstruck.

"I know," I smirked, casually taking a sip of water from the complimentary glass sitting at the table.

"So, Mitchie," Nate spoke up. She looked up from her fidgeting fingers, still clearly nervous that she was around us. "Do you live somewhere around here? I thought you would've been on a flight back home already."

"Oh, no." She shook her head. She transferred her squirming toward the rolled up utensils wrapped in the cloth napkin. "I live out of state." My heart dropped a little bit from that fact. "But my parents and I are staying in town for a week or two, before I have to go back to school."

"Oh." It was a great attempt for me to disguise my disappointment, but I was unsuccessful.

"What about you guys?" She lightened up the situation by smiling at me. "Don't you have some touring to do or something? I'm sure you guys don't have to worry about school and all that boring stuff like I do."

"I don't know," I muttered, my words still trickled with discontent.

"Really, we don't," Jason backed me up. "We have no plans for a while."

"So you're all going to stay in town, too?" she wondered, her positive aura still going strong. "Shane?" She caught me off guard with the question suddenly directed toward me.

"Yeah, of course!" I scoffed, as if it was a ridiculous question to ask me. "I love it here."

Nate choked momentarily on his water and Jason started to cough harshly at my words. I glared at them for only a second, making sure that Mitchie didn't see.

"Hello." Thankfully one of the waitresses walking the aisles finally came up to the booth. "I'm Charlie, and I'll be your server today." Her voice was strangely quiet. Maybe even quieter than the neighboring booths; I could barely hear her.

"I'm not ready yet," I told her, flipping my menu open. "You can go for now."

"Oh." The waitress hesitated to leave, stepping left and right with waver. "Um, o-okay." She bowed out and left.

"Shane." I suddenly felt someone kick me at my shin.

"Hey! Ow!" My hand shot down to rub at the injury. From the edge of the table, I peered over to find Mitchie glaring at me. "What?"

"That was rude." She shook her head in disapproval.

"Oh, sorry." My movements became slow and broken when I came to realize how offensive my words came out. "Did you want to order?"

"No, but that was wrong the way you treated her."

"Well, I'm ready." Jason slid his menu to the middle of the table. With a wave of his hand in the air, the waitress came back, but in a shrinking position. She was tense. Even as she wrote down our orders, her hand shook with a bit of an edge.

I sighed. There had to be some way for me to think my words through before I spoke.**

* * *

Natasha's P.O.V.**

I made it to the restaurant in the nick of the time, down to the wire for me to check in. As fast as possible, I took off my sweatpants that covered me on the walk, or jog, over. Along with my jacket and purse, I threw my things into my incredibly small unlocked locker, since Derek failed to supply the locks.

Straight from my locker, I took my apron and wrapped it around my waist, patting the pockets to make sure my pen, pad, and other essentials were in their place. On my way out, I took a glance at the waiting orders pinned above the finished plates and carefully piled them onto a bigger tray. I even grabbed the plates that didn't belong to me so that I could redeem my late arrival, if Derek did find out. Unquestionably, my co-workers would be glad to take some responsibility off their shoulders if it meant that they could keep their tips.

I was on a fluid roll, taking orders, fetching the checks, and all. So I didn't get much time to stop and take a break, but at least my customers were satisfied and happy. And any server knew what that meant: bigger tip.

It was busier than most afternoons since it was the weekend and everyone in the city decided to be lazy and forget to make their own lunch. There were even people, or celebrities as Charlie called them, seated at the booths. It was certainly enjoyable to see Charlie actually working rather than relaxing at the bar with all the other slothful employees. And Derek, most of all! I couldn't believe my eyes that he was actually fretting over the real labor that his staff had to face everyday. A pleasurable sight, for sure.

"Natasha!" I was careful to not drop my shoulders in frustration when I heard Derek call me. Through all the dining commotion, my ears were sensitive to hearing marching footsteps come up behind me. "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen." Derek placed his hand on my shoulder while I was in the middle of promoting the chef specials. "If you don't mind, I need to borrow her for just a few minutes." In my mind, I was gagging at how fake Derek sounded. If my customers only knew how disgustingly lazy he was, then they wouldn't have let him drag me away.

I sighed lightly. "Yes, Derek?" Proper and more, I clasped my hands in front of me and stood upright to pay attention to his oncoming demand.

"I need to take over some of the booths." His eyes shot over to his section of tables.

"You mean your tables?" I asked for clarification.

"Yes." He nodded fervently. "Take the other half of the room. Charlie's got the other half taken care of. Now, table fou-"

"Does that mean I still have to man the tables in my section? Or..."

He stared at me once I trailed off, then broke out in a laugh. "Of course! Just because I assigned you other tables doesn't mean you're relieved from your other chores!"

_Chores. He called them chores. What am I, a child?_

But I just gritted the enamel off my teeth and bit my tongue, and complied to my insane boss' orders.

I tried to keep myself seem keen on the whole situation while I waited the greater amount of tables. I sped through the tables, weaving in and out dangerously. Derek was lucky that I had the great ability to multi-task everything from cleaning spills to balancing ten-pound trays of food on one hand, or else his restaurant that he was supposed to be managing would fall to pieces.

"Y-yes, sir. Of course." Charlie unconsciously bowed with an apology.

I rolled my eyes when I saw Charlie frantically trying to stay on top of her five booths. She had to be confident, show no sign of vulnerabilty, but had no control over her stuttering and stammering. She was just asking to be a doormat.

We met up at the dirty dishes area, our place of refuge for a few minutes. "Charlie..." I didn't mean to sound so dissatisfied with her style of waitressing, but it couldn't be helped.

"God, I suck at this." As a routine reflex, she raked her fingers into her hair again, caring less if she messed up her tidy appearance.

"No, Charlie." I patted her shoulder after throwing my hand towel over my own. "You don't...'suck.' You just have to be a little more secure in yourself. Don't think too much about what your customers think. Really, they just want their food and go."

She looked up at me with pleading eyes. "Do you think you could help me, Shay?"

I retracted my hand and took a step back. "No."

"Please?" She raised her hands in a clasped bond, shaking it slightly. "Please, please? Just for tonight, and I'll totally get the hang of it if I see you in action. I won't ask for your help again after today."

I sharply exhaled. I figured Charlie was inexperienced in a way, since she's never had this many customers at once before in her working lifetime. I've been working longer than she has. She was a rookie while I was skilled; I thought of her as my protege. That is, until she was bumped up to the much easier job than I had, regardless of her work history. I made the assumption that it had something to do with Derek's way of thinking out things. Maybe he thought that since she had a better 'look' than most of our equal co-workers, it would be easy for her to wait tables.

Her face was worthy to stand of those that had one hundred dollar bills in their pockets.

"Fine." I gave in, naturally. Sometimes, I despised how helpful I was.

We bartered on the agreement that she would still wait on some of her tables, while I took control of the more intimidating sets of customers. It wasn't difficult for me; I just had about twelve tables to keep an eye on simultaneously. And yet, Charlie still struggled.

"No, I didn't want the sauce on top. I wanted it on the _side_!" A man,--no, a teen my age, I think--complained to Charlie. "Take it back."

"Shane, stop it." I was waiting the table next to Charlie's, so I could hear a girl from the booth scold the guy. Served him right.

"Yes, Mr. Grey." Again, Charlie bowed. I was tired of seeing Charlie bow for apologies. But besides that, everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly for Charlie.

To entertain myself, I made a personal bet with myself that she would manage to mess up something before I could blink.

_CRASH! CLANG! Drip, drip, drip..._

And unfortunately, I won that gamble. It was as if it was a nightly thing for her to drop plates and break things.

"Look at what you did!" The same complaining 'boy,' as I decided to call him since he was acting ridiculously immature, shot up from his seat and wiped at his pants. There was a brown stain that I was sure wouldn't come out so easily.

"I'm sorry..." Charlie whispered in a barely audible voice.

I rushed to Charlie's side and piled the broken pieces of plates and glasses onto a tray that I brought over; I was prepared for this kind of thing to happen. Charlie groaned in embarrassment, trying to ignore all the criticism she was receiving from only one person. Everyone else around her seemed to have become accustomed to her clumsiness and ignored our scampering to get the area clean.

"Shane, stop it!" The girl continued to calm him down, along with two other guys sitting at the same table. "I'm so sorry. He's not usually like this."

"That's what you think," one of the other boys, the curly-headed one, muttered under his breath.

"What kind of waiter are you?!" The 'boy' demanded.

"Dude," the other one that sat next to the girl, spoke up. "Shane, shut up. She already said sorry. It was an accident."

"Waitress," I corrected him, although he wasn't listening to me. Shane, the name of the immature guy, refused to listen to anyone. He fumed like any spoiled teen, pampered celebrity would have.

"Accident or no accident, she ruined my clothes!"

Charlie and I exchanged glances. Hers worried, mine annoyed. Never the less, we both avoided making eye contact with the angry customer.

"Shane, you are being _ridiculous_!" The girl shouted, finally. She quickly silenced the whining child. "I thought you changed! I thought you were beyond this whole popstar-image and acting like a jerk!"

Like a threatened puppy, Shane brought himself down from causing a scene. "...Mitchie. I-I..."

"You're unbelievable!" Her hands were thrown into the air, disbelieving the situation. She must've not known too many celebrities. The way she stood up for Charlie, I assumed she was one of us. One of the average Joe's. "Don't touch me!" She snapped her arm away when he reached out for her. It was like watching a soap opera. "You, Shane Grey, are a stranger to me. The other day, I introduced the real me. I thought you did, too."

"I did!" _What a lame attempt at lying_. "Mitchie, I did! You have to believe me! I have changed!"

The guests standing alongside them didn't give much support, for they rolled their eyes and kept silent.

"Well, _this _doesn't exactly prove that, now does it?!" She motioned to me and Charlie, still on the floor and cleaning up the mess. Carefully dodging our scrambling hands, Mitchie, the brave one, stomped off with a condescending scoff.

"Mitchie, wait!" Shane kicked over the tip of the shattered-plate tower, nonetheless ignoring our existence. He grabbed her by the arm and turned her around. "Believe me, I've changed. I'm not like that anymore. You just...just caught me on an off-day." Mitchie remained silent with skepticism, her eyes narrowed behind her bangs. "L-let me prove it to you."

"How?" She nodded her head in our direction. "Not even if you apologize to them will I forgive you for lying to me!"

I immediately averted my curious gaze when Shane glanced over his shoulder. His mouth was clenched shut with excessive pride. No apology left his throat. He turned back to face Mitchie. "Come on, Mitchie," he pathetically begged.

Her hardened face softened by only an ounce. Aside from the other conversations going on around them, she stared at him silently, carefully studying his face. Once his hand caught hers, their fingers tangling, her expression melted away. She wasn't strong; she was putty in his hands. "Two weeks, Shane," she warned. "You have two weeks to prove it to me, before I go back home." She tried to whip away his hand with an odd sense of tenderness. "I'm eating with my parents." She walked off and sat at another table that I was supposed to be waiting before any of this ever happened.

Shane slumped back into his seat, his hand muffling his guilty expression. It was his turn to groan in embarrassment.

I shook my head and scoffed a little.

_Celebrities. They hardly give us a reason not to hate them.

* * *

_**(A/N: I'm extremely glad many of you like this story! Thanks so much for giving it a chance.**

**Just to let you know, this isn't my main focus right now. It's just a side story. But I'm giving it as much effort as I'm giving to Video Girl. So don't fret about me forgetting Video Girl and Monica/Nate. It's my first story ever and I'm definitely not giving up on it.**

**But you know how writers are. It's kind of difficult for us to ignore story ideas once they hit us.**

**I'll try and post a new chapter of Video Girl ASAP.**

**While you're patiently waiting, do you mind reviewing this story? Opinions would be greatly appreciated.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Shane's P.O.V.**

"Guys, which one?" I asked, lifting two different shirts by their hangers. Like a balance, my arms raised and lowered in opposite directions, showcasing what I thought would look best for today.

After yesterday's horrible excuse for a reunion with Mitchie, I really needed to work on myself. And first on my list was my look. I couldn't wear anything that reminded Mitchie of the old Shane Grey. Unfortunately, that really limited me on my choices; it was either a black collared shirt with a white tie or white shirt accompanied with a vest and tie. The mature look was the way to go if I wanted to change my image, to shed myself of the bad impression that had settled in Mitchie's eyes. If I couldn't find the solution to change my true personality, at least I'd try and look like I had changed.

"The one in your right hand," Nate mumbled under his arm, shielding out the gloomy, but bright light shining through the window I had opened earlier.

"You're not even looking," I complained. "Jason, what about you?" I held out my arms and twisted my wrists to examine my options for the umpteenth time. "Collar? Vest?"

Jason groaned and lifted his head off his pillow, squinting his eyes at the clock on the nightstand. "Since when do you wake up this early?" Then he landed face down and back into bed, continuing in a muffled voice. "You're usually the hardest to wake up."

My arms dropped and stared at my two brothers still lying in bed. I felt like tipping each of their mattresses over. That would surely get them up and running…straight for me, but at least they'd be awake. But I held my exasperation in and buried it as deep as it could go in the back of my mind. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth. "Well, if you must know, Jason," I started out, completely calm, "it takes more than a couple of minutes to achieve perfection. I've decided to go through my phase of metamorphosis and become the person Mitchie expects me to be."

Jason shifted under his covers and turned his face towards me, still eyes closed. "Metamorphosis? Like…a caterpillar? Like a bug?"

Before I could explain it once more to my drowsy older brother, my younger--and much more bothersome--brother snorted. Instead of confronting me like a man, he shunned me by turning onto his side with his back as the alternative to his face. "You can't just decide things like that, Shane. It's not like you can change how you act or talk over night."

He was definitely pushing it--and I was incredibly close to pushing him off the bed. "Apparently, I can," I said proudly, holding my head high. "If you haven't noticed, I'm a new man. Actually, a changed man is more like it. Shane Grey 2.0."

Nate peered over his shoulder to look at me for two seconds before digging deeper into his blanket. "No, I haven't noticed," he muttered. "And neither has Mitchie, bro. You kind of ruined your chances with her yesterday."

"Yeah, Shane," Jason needlessly agreed. "How do you expect to fix things this time? I don't know Mitchie well, but I take that she's not the material-girl type. She might not accept any bribes from you."

"Hey, I do not 'bribe' girls to go out with me. It's usually the other way around. They'd do anything to go out with the Shane Grey." It took me several seconds to realize that my words were far too arrogant. I cleared my throat from my mistake, throwing my two choices of clothing aside onto my own bed. "I mean, I don't expect to solve things buy spending money on her. That's stupid."

"Strike one, Shane," Nate said, finally facing me, eyes squinting either from drowsiness or a scowl. "Don't lie. I saw that box you picked up at the concierge's desk when we came back to the hotel last night. What was it, a Tiffany's bracelet? A necklace?"

I had no excuse prepared for that. I did order a piece of jewelry for Mitchie, but that was weeks before we left camp. Before Tess had busted Mitchie in front of the entire camp population, to be more specific. But I didn't have it shipped until after my failed attempt to reintroduce the new Shane Grey to the real Mitchie Torres. Maybe I considered giving it to her as some kind of peace offering, but Nate was making the idea sound like one that was bound to be another letdown.

"Strike one?" I asked, ignoring his assessment entirely. I didn't need to explain myself to him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing." Nate yawned and stretched with a small smirk on his face. "Just keeping count of all the slip ups the real Shane Grey makes."

He was mocking me. Yeah, so I've said my name a few times now, but it was for a good reason. I was just trying to make the distinct differences between the two different people. Clearly my young sibling was much too young to understand any of this. Poor Nate. So naïve and inexperienced.

"Whatever, young one," I told him, purposely making my tone sound condescending. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Mitchie will forgive Sha-" I caught myself. Another thing I had to work on. "…She'll forgive me in no time. We might even be able to go out a few times before she heads back home."

"And what will happen when she does leave, Shane?" Jason asked, adding to Nate's pessimistic comments. Why couldn't they keep to themselves when I wanted them to? "What if we're the first to head out of this town? What do you expect to happen then?"

I glared, giving each of them a fair amount of time to bask in my depreciation. Holding my detestable stare, switching every now and then, I stood in between their beds. They had quit paying attention to me before I even arrived where I stood, indicating how much they cared for my response to Jason's question.

"Our jet, as I've said before, will be the solution," I said. But they just scoffed and turned away from me in unison, burrowing deep into their covers. "But I don't have to worry about that now," I continued, unaffected by their shun. "Until then,…" My arms reached out, stretching the lengths of them, and took a firm grip of white sheets in both my hands. "…Let's get some breakfast."

In a strong haul, I heaved the sheets towards my torso, resulting for Nate and Jason plummet onto the hard carpeted floor. I crossed my arms with the feeling of triumph while they groaned in objection. Their continuous gripes sounded like music to my ears.

But nothing could be compared Mitchie's angelic voice. One that I really needed to hear sometime soon.

**

* * *

Natasha's P.O.V.**

"Excellent choice," I complimented the gentleman while jotting down his order. Though I'd been working at this restaurant for months now and could practically memorize the entire table's orders, I had to keep a tab on who ordered what on a pad of paper. It was unprofessional in my perspective; we were initially trained to commit to memory our guests' requests and smile. But it was unavoidable to seem amateurish when it came around to waiting multiple tables at once.

Apparently Derek became aware of my talent of taking many things on simultaneously when he 'generously' gave me his share of tables the other night. Everywhere I went this morning, I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every movement. Creepy would be nothing but an understatement since I was merely working my basic route through the maze of tables. There was nothing different or new about my organized strategy of delivering food and bussing tables. He chose now to notice, after months of working for him?

It felt unnatural for Derek scrutinizing every step I took, so I swiftly disappeared his line of vision by pretending to pick something off the floor. There was nothing to clean on my spotless area but I just had to get away from him. In order to do so, I awkwardly stepped in the direction of the bar in the back of the restaurant, traveling as if I was doing lunges. By the time I made it over to a nearby bar stool, there was a mild burn in my legs. I slumped into the swiveling seat and heaved a relieving sigh.

"What would you like?" I heard a voice ask out of thin air. My body jolted in my seat, clearly taken by surprise that I wasn't alone. Once I felt my heart slowly back down in my chest, my brow furrowed. Hesitantly, I used my hands to push up on the table top and peer over the counter. Right then, a head popped out and I almost fell out of my chair.

"Oh my g-" I had no time to finish my shocked remark; my breath caught when I tried to latch onto anything sturdy before I landed on my behind.

"Whoa!" A hand grabbed my wrist just in time. A sturdy grip, it was. I wasn't released until I was settled and perched calmly on the swiveling seat. "You good?"

I frustratingly blew a gust of air upwards, toward my bangs. Though they veiled back over my eyes, I saw an unfamiliar face. An attractive, familiar face. A face that was graced with astonishing bluish-gray eyes and short brown locks that further intensified his ocean orbs. "Who are you?" I managed to say after a brief moment of recovery.

He chuckled, for a split second flashing a half-grin. With the same hand that saved my butt's life, he slid his hold down to envelope mine into a hand shake. "Chase," he said. "Clearly the rookie around here." He laughed again. "First time on the job and I'm already causing trouble."

"You're new," I stated. No wonder he seemed unfamiliar.

"That's definitely a nice way to put it." His bottom lip pursed a little, showing a hint of contemplation of my words. I hadn't noticed my staring until his mouth moved again. "I like your uniform. Decide to match my style, did you?" I blinked from my embarrassing stare--which I prayed he didn't notice--and looked down. I was wearing something similar. Red top, black bottom. Only he had a black tie and he wasn't dressed in a skirt. "Too bad Derek opposes the idea of name tags…" he casually hinted.

"Oh!" I came quick to realize I hadn't introduced myself. "Natasha," I enthused, holding my hand out again without thinking. He shook my hand again. "Veteran."

His hand recoiled from our second hand shake, took a wash cloth from his apron and wiped at the counter. "Veteran, huh?" While he wiped the surface until it was spick and span, I saw the corner of his mouth twitch a smile, slightly amused at my response. "Do veterans get break times whenever they want to?"

Impulsively, my head whipped left and right, searching for Derek. "What, are you crazy? You must really be new if you think we can just abandon our post."

"Isn't that what you're doing right now?" he asked, now turning his attention to organize the arrangement of alcohol.

I hunched partially, sighing in disappointment when I remembered the list of orders burning a hole in my own apron. My hand dug into the pocket on my side while I pivoted my hips inattentively to spin in my seat. "Rookie, if Derek ever thinks twice about name tags, you should definitely consider labeling yours 'Killjoy,'" I said, rolling my eyes in the process of hopping off my seat.

"Nah, I'm good with 'Rookie,'" he responded as I walked away from my safe haven. Over my shoulder, I could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll see you later?"

"Sure," I answered, spinning around so that I was walking backwards. My feet traveled expertly, weaving in and out the clusters of tables. "If you last that long as Mahogany Cork's new bartender, that is," I smirked.

I was rewarded with another shocking smile of his before I knowingly dodged one of the restaurant's huge columns and crept back into the fuss of work. Easily breaking back into my route of waiting tables, warm smiles were aimed at me, greeting me back with no trace of impatience that I expected to receive. I had probably put off my service for a good ten minutes; they were one of the first customers I ushered to a table since early dinner began.

"Hello again, dear," the one female said as soon as I approached within two feet of their table. She was considerably middle-aged with her salt-and-pepper hair, the silver strands and creases in her forehead indicating how long and hair she's been in the working business. Even her attire shouted 'I'm serious' with her plain navy calf-length skirt and snug button-up jacket, buttons and seams perfectly sewn in. How could someone with such a look wear a genuine smile?

"Mrs. Blanche," I greeted casually before angling in another direction. "Mr. Blanche." Now Mr. Blanche looked far older than his spouse; though he had a full head of hair, every single tress had a silvery shine. It looked like his eyebrows weren't keen on growing old, so they remained a dark color which I figured was his old hair color. Like his wife, he wore a suit. Nothing would be fun and games with him, that's for sure.

But had a look of satisfaction on his face. "Ah, Natasha," he said, a smile still attached on his mouth. "There you are."

My eyes shot over to their almost empty glasses, the condensation dripping onto the table cloth and soaking the fabric. "I sincerely apologize," I said, but locking my joints to avoid pulling a 'Charlie' and bowing. "Is there something you two would like before I place your orders?"

"Oh, definitely," Mr. Blanche answered with continuous content. "Today's a special day. This glass of water surely does not fit this occasion. It calls for red wine, if you have it."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Blanche." In my mind, I tacked on a price--an expensive one--onto their bill.

Before I could go and attend to other tables I'd managed to neglect, Mrs. Blanche included, "And we have had more than enough time to decide what to eat." She held out her leather-covered menu to me. "I would like the Pesto Fettuccini, sweetheart."

"And there's nothing like a celebratory plate of steak and potatoes," the husband stated, also handing me his menu.

"Many other customers have had the same opinion, Mr. Blanche," I courteously agreed, nodding with an upheld smile. "I'll be right back with your…bottle?" It was habitual to ask if the customer would like just a glass of the potent wine, but I knew they would go for the splurge.

"That would certainly be delightful." The woman's crow feet appeared when she grinned even wider. She had me beat hands down.

As I backed away from their table, and after I turned to head in the direction of tables that had to be immensely annoyed by now, my ear caught their reason for their unusual cheerfulness. "With this new promotion, honey, I could get you that Lexus you wanted."

"Forget the Lexus, Damien. I want that Ferrari showcased at the dealership."

_Of course. It's money that's making them happy._

Heaving a disappointed sigh, I was aware not to drop into a slouch before arriving at any of my assigned tables. Each customer, as I had anticipated, had a twinge of annoyance in their tones when I took their order. But eventually, they eased into an even and calm attitude when I swiftly cared for every single desire. All in all, I had my customers sitting contently and satisfied. I could hear the clinking into my jar of tips now.

I was fluidly serving here and there, a break far from my mind. I was going to say that nothing could break my stride, but I would be speaking too soon. Actually, the words wouldn't have been able to be uttered given that I was suddenly herded into the area for dishes. Hands were latched onto my arms and I almost dropped my pad of orders. Once I was released, I whirled around, absolutely prepared to glare at the only person who would haul me into this place.

"Charlie, what the…?"

"Shay, Shay," she said as she repeatedly shook my arms that she had grabbed onto again. "Shay."

"Yes! What, Charlie?" I whispered loudly, shrugging out of her hold. "What is it now?"

"You met the new bartender." Her glossy green eyes beamed with enthusiasm. And then I knew exactly what she had in mind.

"Yeah?" I let my eyes roam, helplessly staring at a mountain of dirty dishes. "What about Chase?"

She sighed deeply. "Chase," she repeated, her tone laced with wonder. "Oh wow…"

I rolled my eyes before glancing at her tables over her shoulder. Completely empty as usual; the celebrities weren't into dining at the normal time so they would arrive later with their probable arrogance. "Charlie, if you're just going to stand there and gawk for another ten minutes, I have some customers with blood pressures that could sky rocket any second."

"You have to introduce me, Shay!"

"Introduce yourself," I suggested bluntly, brushing by her. "It's easy. Just say hi. He'll say hi back. And voila, you've gotten yourself through the introduction." I spoke so quickly that I thought my words had slurred together. I didn't want to waste any time. The tips were still in the credit cards of my customers, and if I didn't get them to sign that receipt soon, a deduction would be in order.

"Please?" she begged. "You don't have to do it now. Maybe later tonight, before we close?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Whatever." I waved my hand behind me, paying not much attention to this side conversation that was costing me--and my mom--essential tips. A few meters from where I stood, where one of my tables were, I saw a table of five swiveling their heads around for their waitress--me. "Talk to you later, okay?"

I didn't stay to hear her response. From my apron, I plucked one of the longer lists and prepared to make amends by asking if they would like more white wine or an espresso to end their night. But before I could make it around three other tables to my destination, Derek slid in front of me, out of thin air.

"Natasha." He stared at me with wide, penetrating and speculating eyes. He seemed quite aware that he was blocking my way, but each time I stepped to the side, he would mirror me a nanosecond later.

I gave up on making my second escape. Maybe found out about my first. "Yes, Derek?"

"You're doing exceptionally well lately…"

"Oh." I blinked, caught off guard from the compliment that was extremely rare to hear from him. "Thanks."

He crossed his arms in front of him, narrowing his eyes. "No complaints, whatsoever."

_Really? None?_ "But of course, Derek," I sweetly replied, showing no sign of doubt in myself. Contesting his choice of words would certainly put his sporadic spree of praises at an end. I had to milk it for all its worth. "I would really hate to be anything short of your standards."

The corner of his mouth twitched. An actual smile. Maybe he saw right through my buttering-up and was amused at how hard I was trying. Or, he was actually in a good mood. "Some of the customers have even requested to be seated in your area. You are quite the model waitress."

Maybe he didn't know that he was stroking my ego. I felt my head inflating, and I had to pop it before it got too massive. "I don't think so," I murmured humbly. "There are other employees here that have been working here longer than I have."

"And they don't have the same kind of determination or persistence," he insisted.

I shifted my weight onto my other foot, feeling uneasy now. Well, if you didn't spend so much time spying on me, you would notice. "If you think so," I said, my smile still attached to my face. While I listened--more or less--to more of Derek's appraisal that was considered atypical in my book, I looked past his shoulder and saw my customers fidgeting in their seats. If I didn't want to wave goodbye to a good chunk of tonight's tips, I had to get Derek to stop chattering.

"…Maybe a promotion is in order."

"That's nice of you to say, Derek, really," I spat out quickly and began to walk around him. "But table four's about to-" My feet came to a stop, realizing things faster than my brain should have. I slowly turned on the balls of my feet to face Derek again, who was looking a little smug. "Wait. Did you say…?"

The words were impossible to form. As great as the opportunity was, I was bemused. Exactly what does a waitress at a restaurant get as a promotion? A position as a cook? Boy, that'd be one of Derek's huge mistakes. I'd probably give the whole restaurant a one-way ticket to the hospital and court for an inexplicable lawsuit.

"That's right," Derek said, holding out his hand for me. Was he offering me a handshake? "You get to wait the V.I.P. section of the restaurant now."

"Oh." I blanked for a second, a little disappointed, but shook his hand anyway and cracked a thankful smile. "Thanks, Derek."

"And there's a raise in it for you, too, of course," he added.

Suddenly, my smile wasn't that difficult to hold up anymore. My hand shook his more vigorously than before. "Oh, wow," I breathed disbelievingly. "Thank you, Derek, really. Thank you."

"Ah, you deserve it, Natasha." He waved his hand as if it was nothing. He had no idea how much it meant to me. Maybe it would be too early to ask him for an advance on my paycheck to buy my mother some more medication. How many pills did she have left? Four? Three? "Now hurry up and finish waiting on your old tables. The booths need some tidying up."

I locked my elbow from doing a salute in response to his order. "Sure, Derek. But, after, do you mind if I take a break for a while?" He was still in a good mood. I needed to take advantage of it; my feet were killing me in these uncomfortable red heels.

His eyes squinted more than usual, contemplating a good few seconds. "I guess. But only five minutes. Reservations are pouring in anytime now."

"You're great, Derek," I complimented, but only for the moment. Any other time and I'd be lying through my teeth.

I sped through my tables and collected my tips happily, the stingy amounts notwithstanding. Once my last table on the lower level of the restaurant was cleared, I practically jogged through the employee back door, ignoring the blistering pain on my feet, and grabbed a cup of hot coffee along with my jacket. Before I could escape, a hand rested on my shoulder, startling me.

"Oh!" I gasped, almost tipping my brimming paper cup of caffeine. My eyes met a pair of--now familiar--cloudy blue ones. "Chase, stop doing that!"

He chuckled at me and dropped his hand. "Sorry." I saw he had his own mug in his hand, but it was empty. "Heading out?"

"Nah." I shook my head, only having to blow my bangs away from my face again. I rose my cup of coffee. "Quick break."

"Warden let up?" He fought a grin, but I could see it slowly appearing.

"Sort of." I shrugged into my jacket and pulled on my hood. Right then, almost comically like a cartoon, Charlie peeked her head out from the corner in the hall, grinning like a madwoman. My eyes glazed over. "Oh. Have you introduced yourself to everyone else on staff? Most of them are pretty nice."

"Yeah? Like who?"

He was asking all the right questions, thank god. I needed to speed things up. "Charlie. She's a good friend of mine. Works up in the V.I.P. section. Or shall I say, our section," I added in almost a proud way.

"Charlie, huh? Yeah, okay," he said, nodding. I flashed him a smile and waved, much too quickly to be polite. "Oh hey," he called. I muttered unintelligibly. "Next break time, maybe you fill me in on all the other employees' backgrounds. Don't want to make friends with the wrong people, you know what I mean?"

"Sure," I agreed easily for the umpteenth time in my life. Always so helpful. _Ugh. Stop it_. "Next time."

* * *

**Shane's P.O.V.**

So breakfast was a let down. And so was lunch. Mitchie wasn't at Mahogany Cork either times. Maybe she was avoiding me and my arrogant self. I don't blame her.

But I was really hopeful, actually. I was set on proving myself before my two weeks were up and she flew back home. Not that I didn't have a plan B if it did come down to that, but still. It would be much easier for me to make things right now, rather than flying heaven knows how many miles across the country--or world, maybe--to convince her that I'm a changed person. A changed man.

I guess. But first I had to convince myself if I wanted to make it look believable in front of everyone else.

After a day of leveling my bad P.R., my brothers and I walked the streets of this miniature city. Besides the comparatively decent hotel they had located in the far, far end of the city, near the borders of city limits, there was absolutely nothing going for this place.

No grand mall, only small outlets. No big screen movie theaters, just one-showing, small, silver screens that could be passed off for table cloths. Even their car rentals weren't worth renting. I mean, who would want to be seen driving in a outdated mustang. Well, maybe Nate, but that's only because he's willing to drive anything with wheels attached since he got his driver's license while I was imprisoned in that camp. Jason, on the other hand, didn't care much for the car rentals either. And by that I meant he would drive an ancient Volkswagon Beetle and be satisfied.

Must I be the only one born with great taste?

_…Crap. There I go again._ At least I didn't say anything out loud for Nate to count another strike against me. Not that I cared or anything. Not much.

Anyway, the entire day was agonizingly slow for me. My brothers wouldn't let me do anything or say anything to explain my 'great' experience at that camp. I could only call that dank place sincerely amazing because of one girl. The one who saw me for who I…wanted to be. But I truly wasn't that person. Deep down, I still desired all the latest technology, craved all the latest fashion, adore all the attention. All of it.

She had to believe I was someone else. I had to make her think I was someone she could like.

So as I walked the cracking sidewalk of some dreary street, casually walking in the middle of this large huddle of paparazzi and wearing my new Raybans to shield my eyes, I thought about Mitchie.

I thought about how her brown hair blew in the humid summer wind, how her adorable smile would appear when I cracked some joke I'd heard Jason say before, and how her voice matched perfectly with mine. I thought about how happy we could be. How we were so perfect for each other. Yin and Yang, I guess. She's the sweetest person in the world, the most perfect being in existence, while I'm the guy who can't seem to control the stupid things he says from coming out of his mouth.

But she didn't have to know that we were opposites. Just perfect pieces of a puzzle that were meant to be together. It was fate.

I could handle being someone I wasn't. Just as long as I was the man Mitchie wanted. I could be him.

Well, I could _try_, the more appropriate word being.

"…When are you planning to record that song with Peggy ?"

"Who?" I asked, a little dazed from my prior reverie.

"Peggy," Jason whispered under his breath as he nudged my arm with his sharp elbow. I flinched away, glaring at him through my sunglasses. "The girl who won that contest. Remember? Peggy?"

He seemed a little too enthusiastic every time he said that one girl's name. Hmm. Whatever. I could care less. "Oh, right. Peggy." I nodded, flashing my heart stopping smile at the cameras present and hovering around us. "We plan to have a talk with our manager first before we make any plans."

An assault of questions followed, mercilessly opening fire on me. Oh, and I guess my brothers, also. They were handy, though. All the unimportant questions that didn't have anything to do with me, I let them answer.

We crossed the street, the cluster of people stalking along with us, and began to walk along another block that would seem endless to me. Underneath my shades, I was bored out of my mind and rolling my eyes constantly. When and where exactly was Mahogany Cork at? Wasn't it just down the street from the hotel we were staying at?

_Oh wait._ We had a driver then.

I groaned internally, frustrated at why we decided to go on foot from one of the retail shops to the restaurant. Surely, I couldn't have been the one who made the absurd decision.

"I'm so glad you guys are still in the city," I beautiful voice said brightly from beyond the crowd of cameramen. I heard faint giggles and a more distinct and familiar laugh after a car door slammed shut. "We have to spend as much time as possible together before I go home."

"Oh please. It's a must. You have to tell me everything about…you know who."

_Who?_

_Who?!_

I knew that was Mitchie even under all that giggling. I just couldn't see her from the sea of heads blocking my line of vision. At that moment, I actually wanted all that attention to vanish, just so I could see her. And so she could see me.

But then I remember I had changed after breakfast, after hope died down when I didn't find her at the restaurant. I was wearing some of my nicer clothes. Ones that I would approve, and none that Mitchie would. My appearance wasn't entirely believable that I was a different person, so I would have to up my personality.

_Joy._

I cleared my throat, took off my glasses, and squared my shoulders. My hand involuntarily ran through my hair. I tried stretching my neck as far as it could so that I could see over the paparazzi, but through the small spaces in between their heads, no one was there. I couldn't hear anymore girlish giggles. She was gone.

Maybe she went inside with her friends. Yeah, that's it. I had to stay positive. All the better to help with my personality. Keep it positive. Keep it natural as much as I can possibly handle. Be nice.

I had to start off somewhere. I had to get the nice guy ball rolling if I wanted to gain momentum and sway Mitchie into believing me.

My hands stuffed into my jeans, chewing over what I could do to get a head start. I fumbled with loose change that was randomly--and unusually--placed in my pockets.

_Weird_. I never use cash, much less possess any clinking coins.

But I could find some use for them, that was for sure. I just needed some homeless person. There had to be some pathetic poor person lurking around this city, right?

Just as the media began to disperse into a thinner line of people, I saw the ideal specimen crouched down at a doorstep near Mahogany Cork, curled in miserable ball and holding a flimsy cup. The poor person looked wretchedly depressing to look at.

_Perfect_.

I pulled out my change and it clinked in my hand as I tossed it a few times in the air. I followed my brothers up until we reached the front door of the restaurant. I motioned for them to wait a few seconds; maybe my little act would help us all with my bad P.R. So really, I wasn't only thinking about myself. I had my brothers and band in mind.

_See? It's working already!_

I stretched out my arm--not too keen on getting close to the homeless person-- and dropped the change into the cup. "There you go, buddy. You need it more than I do."

Feeling a bit more confident in my alternate self, I waved goodbye to the paparazzi and headed inside with my brothers, my arms draped on both of their shoulders. One big happy family band.

Unfortunately, I couldn't hold my fake smile for long. There was an unbelievably long line at the host stand. I groaned internally again.

**

* * *

Natasha's P.O.V.**

_What the hell?_

All I heard was something thud lightly into my cup. Oh, and that remark. "You need it more than I do."

Again…What the _hell_? I wasn't even finished with my coffee!

By the time I looked up, the 'good Samaritan' was gone. All I remember seeing was some silver band on the finger of the hand that offensively dropped something.

I shot up from my very comfortable, and warm, position and inspected my cup. My hood slipped off my head and I tilted my cup from side to side, hearing something metal scrape along the bottom of the paper cup. I mouthed my confusion, but remained silent. The photographers perched outside the restaurant might document me as some deranged homeless person.

Which I was absolutely was not!

My teeth grinded with my locked jaw. I was close to crumpling my paper cup in my hands, risking the hot coffee spill over and burn my fingers. Burnt fingers was a bad thing when you're a waitress.

So I swallowed my anger--an not my coffee, I can't say enough--and stormed back inside. I hung my jacket back onto the coat rack and readjusted my apron around my waist. I tried to shake myself out of my fury before I went out and greeted any new customers that I prayed weren't stuck up and stingy. But I shouldn't hold my breath. Stingy and celebrities went together like milk and cookies--only they weren't at all sweet.

A little less flustered and with an oh-so fake smile that I could only create at the time, I pushed through the kitchen swinging doors, armed with my pad of paper and pen…and the cup of coffee I'd forgotten was still in my hand.

"Oh god, oh god, I'm sorry!" Charlie needlessly apologized a million times. I found her patting down some customer with a cloth napkin. She probably spilled something. Again.

And then I saw the line building at the host podium. Angry faces that almost matched mine were slowly forming, incredibly impatient. Charlie's tables were yet to be cleared and littered with bottles of beverages, half-eaten plates of food, and very little tips.

I sighed and trudged lightly over to her tables. I was only helping her out once again because I knew what's-his-face was going be sitting at one of her designated tables as usual. The faster the table was cleaned, the faster I could get him out of this place where he wasn't within spitting distance--or whatever else I felt like throwing at him at the time.

Once the table was cleaned, a new table cloth was spread out, I set down my cup I had to keep with me; Well I couldn't just put it down on some other table with people already sitting at. I found a flap of fabric wrinkled on the far end and I tried reaching for it, only to have knocked over my cup. The coffee stained a dark blot on the rich red fabric, in company with the coins I started to glared at.

I didn't mean to do it on purpose. Maybe my infuriated subconscious did, but oh well. What happened, happened.

With a smirk, I turned away from the stained table--still with my toppled-over cup-- and attended to my end of the V.I.P. section.

_Thanks, but no thanks, Richie Rich. I am no charity case._

As I politely greeted the new guests, I saw something in my peripheral. I began to feel anxious but held it under wraps when I saw a group of three--one of which I knew was the host--walking toward my area.

"U-uh," I stammered nervously, "Yes, okay. Chef's special. Anything else?"

My gaze flickered back and forth as I saw the group of three being seated in the empty booth next to me. I regrettably finished taking my current table's orders and walked over a few steps to my left woodenly. They were already in conversation when I approached.

"Hey, this spot's pretty nice," the curly headed one said approvingly, looking out the window at the clear sky.

"Yeah, we're lucky our usual table wasn't cleaned off, huh?" the much older looking one added. I held back my scolding mutter. "It's a nice view from here."

"Oh yes," the boy I clearly remembered being classified as Shane agreed. "A very nice view, indeed." Although he wasn't looking in the same direction as his buddies were. He was looking around me, and staring at someone.

Hesitantly, and kind of awkwardly, I looked over my shoulder and rolled my eyes almost immediately. He was staring at that girl, Mitchie, who was sitting not five feet in my old assigned area of tables.

"Oh my god, he's looking over here!" one of the girls sitting with Mitchie whispered loudly.

"Shh!" Mitchie shot back, fighting an obvious grin. And with little will power she had, she surrendered and met googly eyes with Shane. Ugh.

"You know, guys," Shane called, still holding an adoring stare at Mitchie, "I think this should be our new booth. I like it here. It's…convenient."

Fabulous. Just fan-freaking-tastic. I'm caught in between some sickening relationship that I doubted would succeed between these two and I have to serve this jerk. I repeat: _Fan-freaking-tastic_.

* * *

_(A/N: Oh wow. More than a month. Sorry I haven't updated in a while! I've been focused on a lot of things. Namely, Video Girl, but I'm sure not many of you mind._

_I hope this chapter was okay! I thought it was light-weight good! Haha._

_Review?_

_PS: For those who it may concern, I plan to update Video Girl next weekend. I get a week off starting next weekend, so I have more time to prepare.)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Natasha's P.O.V.**

I looked out through the doily design of the window curtain and saw the silver, thick clouds rolling in--as usual. The puffs of gloom were welcomed routinely as I drew the thin curtains back and tied them into a knot. The overcast and early morning day lit my way through the kitchen in search of something to eat before heading off to work.

And almost as predictable as my conventional practice I paced anxiously around the house, waiting for Melanie to arrive on time for once. I had no clue as to why she always pulled into my gravel driveway minutes later than she should. She only lived a few cabin houses down, give or take a dozen residences in between.

It wasn't like she had to do much but to watch over my mother while I was gone at work. I could only expect for her to lounge across the living room sofa, magazine or tv remote in hand. Anything else filled in the monotonous gaps, like rummaging through boxes of leftovers from the restaurant that I had already organized neatly in the refrigerator for food. All she had to do in order to receive her undemanding pay was to make sure that one of those white pills made its way into my mom's hands. Preferably, and more specifically, into her mouth.

The coiling cord of my old-fashioned telephone stretched far while I took the phone with me to the corner of the kitchen, the habitual phone number already dialed on the difficult sticking buttons. I thumbed through numerous envelopes of bills on the counter.

"Hey-a!" Melanie's perky--and ironic--voice greeted me once the five or six rings had passed and reached her voicemail. "Don't bother leaving a name and number because that's what Caller ID is for! Oh, but leave a message, though. If you want."

I sighed and placed the phone back into its base cradle to hang up. Maybe she's driving and on the way here. I suppressed another frustrated exhale when I caught sight of the loudly ticking clock hanging off the wall across the kitchen. Convincing myself was easier said than done.

"Phil," I heard a low moan filled with agony echo through the house. "Don't go, please. Don't leave me."

"Mom?" I called anxiously. Naturally, I was drawn to the distressing sound that came from my mom's room. The misery being voiced increased in volume which only set me into a wide state of panic once I stepped through the closed bedroom door.

My mother writhed underneath her quilt restlessly, fine lines on her face traced with emotional pain. Wetness lined her eyelids and dripped down her temples in steady currents, seeping through her thin, black hair and staining her pillow. I grabbed her hand and tried to make her believe whoever she pleaded to was there in her dreams. But it only made her weep harder.

After trying to pull her covers back over her quivering body, I reached for the phone beside the bed and one-handedly dialed Melanie a second time. A part of me expected for the call to go straight to voicemail and warned me not to get my hopes of her answering, but I held on to that last shred of anticipation until that sprightly greeting came around again.

_Ding dong._

Her timing was impeccable; I didn't feel too heated now that I knew she was here and I could head to work. Reluctantly, I released my mother's troubled grip and answered the door.

"Hey," Melanie said, her flat voice completely different than that of on her voicemail. Even her face portrayed the amount of interest she possessed at the thought of spending another day taking care of my mother. "Sorry I'm late," she sighed as she stepped in the house with measured strides.

"It's fine," I lied, leading the way. I prepared for my departure by slipping on my hoodie, slinging on my purse, and grabbing for my keys. Before I did take my leave, I couldn't go without knowing if my mom had returned into a deep sleep. "Um, Mel? Did you remember to give my mom her medicine last night?" I half glanced over my shoulder before I reached into the kitchen cupboard.

"Yeah. After dinner, just like you said."

"And you made sure she drank it?" I wondered as I inspected the correct amount of pills that remained in the plastic bottle. I was suddenly reminded of the dwindling number on my mother's medication.

"I handed it to her," Melanie specified.

"But did you see her drink it?" I asked, turning to face her.

Melanie's dark brown eyes narrowed at me, unappreciative of the presumption. "Yes, Natasha," she replied slowly. "I saw her put it into her mouth. She drank it with the glass of water I gave her after she took her shower." She went into particulars in a edgy tone that was unnecessary; she knew I would be this concerned.

Especially since I knew how much my mom despised taking her medicine. I stalked my way toward the bathroom and found the glass of water sitting on the edge of the sink. I picked it up and noticed a faint white fog dissolved in the water, lingering at the bottom of the glass. I sighed, teeming with exasperation, and showed her the cup. "She spit the pill back out, Mel. God, couldn't you have made sure she drank it?" My head was shaking while I poured down the fruitless medication. "I can't afford to waste her medicine like this. I haven't gotten my paycheck yet and I still have to order another bottle somehow."

"Sorry," she murmured quietly with a hint of guilt.

"Just…" I sputtered in frustration before brushing by her and headed into the kitchen to retrieve the pill bottle. I handed it to her. "Right after breakfast," I directed her. "Make sure-"

"Yes, I know, I know," she interrupted with a nod. "I'll be on watch this time."

I tried to conceal my look of disappointment, disapproval, and aggravation, but wasn't the least bit successful every lasting second until I fast-walked out the front door.

A thought crossed my mind when I recalled the hollow clink in the pill bottle.

How many were left? Three, two?

_…Not enough._

**

* * *

Shane's P.O.V.**

"Shane," Jason called. His voice seemed to be very distant. "Dude. Earth to Shane. You there?" And as much as I hoped that he wasn't within five meters and far across the room, he wasn't. To my dismay, I barely remembered him sitting right beside me until he waved his hand in front of my face, almost too close to catch my attention. "Blink once if you can hear me. Blink twice if you're choosing to ignore me."

I made it clear and firmly shut my eyes twice.

Nate sighed across the table. "Can we go now? It's obvious Mitchie's not coming here for lunch, Shane." He glanced at his watch with an expectant stare. "1:30," he pointed out. "It's 1:30 and we've already ordered our food, eaten it, and paid the bill. And she's still not here yet."

"Maybe she sleeps in late," I said before taking a long, loud sip of my generic lemon iced tea just to annoy him. I easily sunk into pleasant thoughts of Mitchie sound asleep with her silky hair lining her pillow, not a strand out of place. Perfect--just like she was.

Nate groaned. He slumped into a hunch and held his face in his hands. "Can me and Jason go, at least?"

"We can't," Jason answered. "Think about how bad that'll look if we leave Shane behind at a restaurant while we head out. The last thing we need is more rumors about the band breaking up for the sixteenth time." Jason mindlessly squeaked his index finger over the rim of glass.

I smirked inwardly. Jason was right. We had to think several steps ahead before we took action; a slip-up on their part or mine and handling the bad P.R. we--or my brothers, depending on the perspective--tried so hard to alleviate would charge back ten-fold. Then my sneer lessened with the thought of having to be detained in that horrible camp again.

I refused to let this town's humid air ruin my hair for another time around. The one and only exception would be if Mitchie was around. But it was clear that she wasn't. She wasn't even around for lunch.

I sighed discreetly, keeping both my defeat and disappointment under my breath. "Yeah, okay. Let's go." I slid squeakily along the red leather seating while Jason and Nate exited the other end.

"Thank you," Jason said, announcing our departure to our waitress.

"Have a good afternoon." I could hear the dialed-down enthusiasm in her solemn voice over my shoulder. She sounded like that all day.

_Whatever. Who cares? Nate or Jason is probably going to leave her a big enough tip to get her smiling again._

We took the long way around the restaurant, routing around the side of the restaurant rather than straight down the crowded middle section. Along the way I nodded my head and grinned a few times to the girls I heard flippantly giggling and gasping for air. It honestly sounded like they were desperate for oxygen and that they were hyperventilating.

_And why wouldn't they? I'm Shane Grey, for God's sake._ So I rewarded those incredulous girls with a wave of my hand. I could only laugh at how effortless it was to cause an uproar of cries and restrained screams.

But then someone rudely blocked my path toward the exit. Someone made me look like a stumbling fool in front of everyone in the restaurant. I turned my head with a look of annoyance reflexively fixed on my face.

Jason.

"Dude," I hissed lowly, "what was that? Keep moving." I smoothed out my shirt and patted out any creases that looked like wrinkles. And Jason still hadn't moved a step after my minute to recompose. "Jason," I repeated, but he remained oddly silent. I rolled my eyes and walked around him, only to find Nate overcrowding the aisle as well. "Guys, you want to get out of my way? If you want me to lead the way, I'll be more than glad to, but you're going to have to…" I gestured with my hands for them to reposition themselves to the side before flanking behind me.

"Actually," Jason started, turning back around and walking in the opposite direction, dragging me with him, "I forgot I wanted to try their lunch omelet. I heard it was good."

"Jason, what are you-" I struggled to walk backwards at the oddly fast pace he was setting. I tried to swat his hands away. "Could you not touch me? And what exactly are you doing?"

"We might as well take a seat again if Jason wants to sample the food," Nate agreed suspiciously. He began to help Jason direct me back towards our booth. "It's not like we have anything to do today anyway."

"What is with you two?" I asked, confused by their sudden change of hearts. Finally, I embedded my feet into the carpet and attempted to halt my being dragged. It only resulted in shoving me into another person. And to make matters worse, it looked I had been the one who caused the mess that was just made.

I gritted my teeth and glared at my brothers for framing me, making me look like a clumsy idiot in front of an eating audience. "Entrée-with-Comedy" was not, and never will be, a lunch special while I was the main attraction. That was one deal I'd back out of without hesitation.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw our waitress staring at the floor, at the pool of green pea soup that probably wasn't pureed enough; I could see the gritty texture of the soup, or at least what was left of it in the saucer. Mahogany Cork needed to hire a better chef.

I whirled back around to continue my glare at Nate and Jason. "Look what you did. Making me look stupid," I grumbled on the way back to the booth and taking my seat. My brothers followed suit, still acting completely bizarre. They seemed far more eager to sit back down than they were a few minutes ago when they were just begging to get out of here.

Nate finally looked back at me from his wide scan of the area. He leaned back in his seat, instantly acting casual. "What?" he asked, failing at concealing his weird behavior. My little brother was weirder than on average.

"Is someone going to tell me what's going on?" I said with obvious irritation--which I need to tone down--and looked at Jason when Nate ignored me due to his sudden interest in his watch's position on his wrist. Jason had a blank stare on his face angled out towards the center of the restaurant. I couldn't quite see or understand what he was gawking at, but I didn't care much to find out. For all I knew, he was watching glue dry underneath the still-peeling red wallpaper.

I sighed and sank into my seat as well. Oh well. At least I'd get to wait around longer for Mitchie. _She's probably brushing back her golden brown hair in the midst of the sunlight. Or she could be applying that delicious looking chapstick that I'd bet would taste like cherr-_

"Oh," the waitress said, confused. "You're…back. Is there a problem?" The grief tainted and decreased the volume of her voice despite the clear perplexity she felt.

"Huh?" Jason snapped out of his trance. "Oh, no. No, not at all. I just wanted to taste the chocolate cake I remembered was on the menu."

"The Dark Fudge?" she needlessly clarified as she was already jotting down the order. "Of course, Mr. Grey. I'll just add that to your bill and I'll be right back with your dessert. Did you want something also, Mr. Grey?" She vaguely shifted her footing to face Nate. He shook his head thoughtlessly, completely focused on his watch. "Okay, then," she said before woodenly facing me. "And you, Mr. Grey?"

"No," I simply answered.

An empty smile and a nod, then she took her leave. _What was with her?_

"Why didn't you guys order something?" Jason asked.

"I thought you wanted to eat that omelet, egg thing?" I leaned forward onto my forearms, eyeing him disbelievingly.

"Did I say that?" Jason craned his neck back and scoffed, playing it off. "I don't think I did. No, of course not. I wanted cake. Yeah."

Before I could interrogate him any further, the waitress came back around in less than a minute. "Here's your Dark Fudge, Mr. Grey. Enjoy," she said with less than an ounce of gusto. She slid the sliver of cake over in front of Jason, but he paid no attention. He had returned to his blank stare, off into space and toward the restaurant. Nate was rolling the cuffs of his shirt and staring off in the same general direction. "Um, are they alright?" she asked. It took me a moment to realize she was asking me.

"I don't know," I murmured, sulking over Mitchie's lack of attendance.

The waitress kept in place, attempting to do what I didn't give any effort to do and scanned for what they were gaping at. "Uh huh," she huffed, seeming somewhat expectant. "They've been regulars for a while," she mentioned. "The one on the right likes strawberries and the one sitting on the far left likes the cheesecake."

I rose an eyebrow at her. However, my brothers reacted in another way.

"Really? She does?" Jason said curiously. "Strawberries, huh? Do you think you could…uh…"

"Me too!" Nate straightened up in his seat. "Could you send over a cheesecake on my behalf?"

I watched as the waitress nodded her head with a small, more fuller smile, as she wrote down the order. "I'll add it on the bill. Should I say who it's from?"

"Nate Grey."

"And Jason!"

A quick and light spin on her feet and the waitress disappeared behind the swinging doors. Two minutes later, she held a silver platter in one hand, balancing the two dishes while she dodged fidgeting chairs from guests that were leaving so abruptly. We would've been gone as well, but no. My brothers had to be anything but normal and stay here when it was evident that Mitchie was not going to-

_Mitchie!_

Our waitress had delivered the dessert trays to two girls that sat at the same table as Mitchie. One I faintly remembered as the female deejay or something, and the other was the one who had won the contest. What are their names again?

My mind went blank when the waitress pointed in my direction--or my brothers' direction--and our eyes met from across the restaurant. Quickly, she looked away and she might've blushed if I knew her well enough. The girls beside her were smiling uncontrollably and glanced over at the table. In the corner of my eye, Nate and Jason were waving.

"You guys knew she was here?" I whispered loudly, practically hissing.

"Who is?" Jason said, continuously waving and paying no mind to who was talking to him.

"You couldn't have told me Mitchie was here?"

"Mitchie's here?" Nate said. "Oh yeah. I see her now. She's next to Caitlyn." Caitlyn. That's what her name was.

"Whatever her name is," I voiced my thoughts. "I'm going to talk to Mitchie and ask her if she wants to eat with us."

"You ate already," Jason pointed out.

"There's always dessert," I said as I started to slide back out the booth. But before I could even get to my feet, the waitress came around.

"The girls thank you boys. They seem very happy, though they've yet to eat." Why is she talking so formally? Has she always spoke in that way? "May I suggest the three-cheese ravioli and the broiled salmon? They have seemed to enjoy those dishes before."

"Yeah, yeah," Jason agreed instantly. "On our tab, of course."

"Of course, Mr. Grey," she agreed.

"What does she like?" I asked bluntly.

"Who?"

"Mitchie."

"The one with the bangs?" she asked monotonously. She seemed bored. "She likes many things on the menu; she's tried almost every dish. But she's specifically told me to tell you not to buy her anything." Of course. I can't prove myself with the help of money. That's what the old Shane Grey would have done.

_Ah, crap. What's the new Shane Grey supposed to do now? Mitchie's not materialistic, so I can't buy her things._

"Told you," Jason muttered bizarrely as if he was answering my thoughts.

--

Half an hour went by, both too slow and too fast. It seemed like those girls were eating at a snail's pace while the minutes ticked by like seconds. I sat in the booth helplessly and stumped while Nate and Jason freely bought Caitlyn and Peggy--I remembered her name--whatever they liked from a distance. The waitress was helping them out, probably in high hopes of receiving a large tip for all the advice. I was dying over at my end of the booth, trying to figure out what in the world I could do without the use of money.

_…Money makes the world go round. What am I talking about?_

I groaned and flattened my forehead onto the table.

"…Peggy is excited to record with you, as I've heard when I walked by their table," the waitress mentioned after serving another booth beside ours.

"Really?" Jason's voice cracked. That was funny. "What are you laughing at?"

I was laughing. But I didn't know whether I was laughing at him or how pathetic I was without the help of money. "Nothing," I simply replied. "Just because."

"Because Mitchie is dropping no hints whatsoever?" Nate assumed. "She making you think, Shane?"

"Shut up," I muttered. "What exactly can I do? She won't let me buy her lunch. She probably won't accept that bracelet I got her. I can't even make a move without my old self take the spotlight." Oh how I loved that spotlight. But the new Shane didn't. Well, not as much. I couldn't believe it had to come to this. "Guys, what do I do?" I had dropped to the level of actually asking my brothers for girl advice.

"How should I know? Natasha's doing all the research for me." Jason shrugged.

"Same here. You haven't exactly tutored me on how to pick up a girl, Shane," Nate said. "I learned to avoid those lessons. And now is a pretty good example why."

"Natasha?" I asked. "Who's that?"

"Me," the waitress said, coming around to our table. "I'm Natasha, Mr. Grey."

"Oh." They should really put name tags on. "Hey." I gulped before I added, "Sorry, I forgot your name." I cringed inwardly when the tone of my voice still had an arrogant edge.

"It' no problem, Mr. Grey." Natasha shrugged her shoulders before she dipped into her apron and pulled out a pen with a half smile. "I've only served your table two or three times now."

"You have, haven't you." I guess I wasn't very observant.

"Hey, Natasha," Nate whispered. "Has Caitlyn said anything about me?"

"Non-stop. She's been asking me her friends what she thinks of you. All comments were very good."

Nate sighed with relief. "Thanks Natasha. You've been a big help."

"Yeah," Jason said in agreement.

"It's no problem, really," she said. Another brief smile and began to walk away. Perhaps my own middle man was walking from me. Natasha could be of help to me also. She seemed to be doing well helping my brothers, so why couldn't she help me?

"Hey," I called.

She turned back around and slowly made her way back over. "Yes, Mr. Grey?"

Before I could ask Natasha for help, my eyes caught some guy standing behind Mitchie. He had a hand on her shoulder, a place that he shouldn't be touching. Or any other part of her body, for that matter. "Who's that?" He looked familiar.

"Boyfriend?" she assumed. She had better be wrong.

"Isn't he from camp?" Nate said. "Something Rickshaw."

"Brad?" Jason guessed. "Bill? Barry? Something with a 'B.'"

"No, I think you were right the first time. Brad Rickshaw sounds about right." Nate nodded thoughtfully.

The name Brad Rickshaw appeared in red letters in my mind when I saw him tickle a giggle out of Mitchie. She was slapping for him to stop--I hoped she hit hard--but she clutched onto his shirt when he stopped, keeping him near. She pulled him into a hug that didn't look very friendly. It was more than friendly.

"Brad," I grumbled. "She likes Brad?"

"Seems like it," Natasha murmured under her breath. She was about to walk away again.

"Hold on," I said, upholding my glare at Brad. "Do you think you could help me?"

"I don't know if there's much I can do, Mr. Grey," Natasha said. "Mitchie keeps quiet whenever I pass by."

Oh, I knew that Mitchie wasn't going to make it very easy for me. But did she really have to demonstrate for me an example of what kind of guy she liked? I didn't know she was such a tease.

_Well, two can play at that game._

"That's not what I meant," I told Natasha, giving a few more seconds for my glowering to last before I faced the waitress. "I need your help. Go out on a date with me," I demanded.

**

* * *

Natasha's P.O.V.**

"Excuse me?" I rose my brow, craning back my neck a little.

"Go on a date with me," Shane repeated. He made no sense.

He suddenly started to give me a once-over and I began to step back a little. "I'm sorry, but what?"

"I'm serious. It's not like I'm asking you to go out on a real date." He breathed a scoff that I found offensive. "It's only to prove a point to someone."

"Mitchie?" I guessed. And every single one of my guesses have been right so far.

"Yeah, so can you do it?"

"Um, no," I answered too quickly and frankly. "I mean, I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Grey."

"Why not? I'll pay you."

"Because-" I cut myself off when his words finally registered in my head. "_Excuse me_?"

"How much do you want?"

I exhaled an incredulous breath. "You want me to date you. For money?"

"It'll probably twice, maybe three times more than what you get a month. Am I right?" Shane was already reaching for his wallet in his pocket.

I would not date you if you were last being on the planet, you moronic jerk. But I kept my cool. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. I will not."

I marched off before he could get another idiotic word in. Charlie was lounging at the bar on a stool, talking to her new buddy, Chase, who was preparing a fancy drink in a shaker.

"Rough day?" Charlie asked. I couldn't imagine what she could see on my face.

"You know that jerk I was telling you about?" I said as I climbed onto my own stool.

"That popstar dude?" Chase clarified. _Funny_. That was one of the words Mitchie had described Shane to be. Okay, so I lied to the guy. I should've felt horrible, but after what he had just asked me--more like demanded me--to do for him, he deserved it.

"Yeah, him." My voice was acidic. I didn't even want to spit his name out. "He asked me to go out on a date with him."

"Oh really?" Chase seemed amused by this.

Charlie gasped. "The lead singer of Connect 3 asked you out? Oh my god!" she squealed.

"Lead singer? Yeah, sure." I easily brushed off that irrelevant fact. "But he was going to pay me."

"Pay you?" Both Charlie and Chase asked in unison.

"Yeah, pay me. He basically wants me to be his stupid tool, like I'm not a human being or something." The scoffs just kept on coming. "Can you believe him?"

"Well, what did you say?" Charlie pressed.

"I wanted to say 'Hell, no,' but that wouldn't be proper for us waitresses." I sighed. "I said no and walked away."

"Why would you say no?" Charlie surprised me with her reaction. Chase and I just stared at her. "Well, you said you've been having money problems."

"Charlie, shh!" I hissed, flickering my eyes at Chase, who was looked taken aback.

She only continued. "And you need the money for your mom's medication."

"Shut up, Charlie!"

"Whoa, Natasha. You're having money problems?"

I hoped Charlie felt a burn boring through her with my glare now that Chase was filled on things I didn't want him or anyone else to know.

"Forget what she said, Chase. Ignore her. It's easy." I slapped Charlie's knee with the back of my hand.

"Ow!" She turned her hips in the stool, avoiding another hit. "Come on, Shay. Just think of it as another job on the side of waiting tables. It'll be another paycheck."

Another job. Another paycheck. And he did practically offer me a blank check. I could demand as much as I needed and I wouldn't have to pay him back. He would have to owe me.

I could buy more medicine. I could pay off some of the bills that have been collecting dust on the kitchen counter. I could afford to give my mother the medical attention she desperately needed. I wouldn't have to worry about relying on Melanie to monitor my mom. I could get to work on time without losing my breath. And that could mean more and better tips. More money to purchase the necessities.

_…Oh, you've got to be kidding me._

**

* * *

Shane's P.O.V.**

"Dude," Jason said as he punched my arm.

I punched back. But Nate hit me from the other side. "Shane, are you stupid? Did you even hear yourself?"

"What did I say?" I ducked my head.

"You offered a girl money to go out with you," Jason openly explained. "First of all, that makes you look and sound pathetic, not to mention desperate. Second of all, you just insulted our waitress."

"I did?"

My brothers rolled their eyes simultaneously. "Yes, Shane. You spoke before you thought once again," Nate reminded me.

_Dang it. I guess I did. Stupid mouth._

"Ah, they'll just replace her with another waiter," I said. I raked my hands through my hair, using all of my will power to not stand up and take Mitchie across the country. I was definitely more of a man than that Brad guy could ever be. But my egotistical attitude was overshadowing that and Mitchie couldn't see that. How else was I to prove to her that I was a different man? I thought my plan would work, not fail. But I guess I could see how unwise that idea was.

_Ugh. What now?_

"Shh, shh," Jason hissed. "She's coming back."

My head hung from my shoulders. Not out of shame, but to prepare myself for the outburst I was going to hear.

"Fine," Natasha surprisingly said. "I'll do it. But under certain circumstances."

I looked up at her. She had her hands dug into her apron, fisting loose change and small bills.

_Ah. She meant money._

"Name your price."

* * *

_(A/N: Gosh. I've been TOO busy. School's killing me. This next month and a half is going to go by so slow as I wait for Spring Break to come around. I'm so sorry for the delay of my writing. I've wanted to write this chapter for the longest time. And I want so badly to update Video Girl this weekend. I hope I'll have some time to, but I can't guarantee anything._

_I hope you like how this story's turning out. Please review.)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Shane's P.O.V.**

_Brad Rickshaw, huh? What's he got that I don't? Impossible. He can't possibly have anything to offer Mitchie. With his hand-me-down, partially bleached-spotted jeans, and his despicably wrinkled item of clothing he should be ashamed to call a shirt. He doesn't even look like he can get his hands on some genuine Italian leather shoes. Pathetic excuse of a man._

"Shane," Jason interrupted my inner rant, "is your face frozen or something? Because I don't think you've even blinked for the past five minutes."

"What?" Involuntarily, I blinked to pull myself out of my silent tirade. "Jason, what are you talking about?" I cleared my throat, trying to play it off, and shifted in my seat to direct my perhaps tiny glare at the water-diluted iced tea on the table.

"I think he means that your face is a little scary," Nate added.

"It is," Jason agreed. "It's like…" When I looked up at Jason, he had his eyes narrowed into small slits, his brow was knotted in the middle, his jaw stuck out, and his nostrils were flared. He held the disgustingly ugly facial expression for a few seconds before relaxing into his normal--for him--bright and positive attitude. Either was disturbing. "Honestly, if it's permanent, I don't think I could sleep in the same room as you. You'd freak me out."

"I do not look like…that," I argued in a grumble. While my brothers rolled their eyes, thinking otherwise of me, I discreetly ran my hand over my face to smooth things out. It wasn't as bad as Jason made it look like.

"Are you all done with that?" Natalie asked, gesturing her hand to the half-eaten plates of dessert.

Nate and Jason passed their plates over. "Yes, thank you, Natasha," Nate said, confusing me.

_Natasha. Right._

"I'll be right back with the bill," Natasha informed us, leaving with yet another empty smile.

"I think she wants us to leave," Nate assumed. "And why wouldn't she? I mean, after tonight's little fiasco, I'm surprised she didn't get the manager to ban us."

I scoffed. "This restaurant? Ban me?" Nate and Jason shot me a similar look. I cleared my throat again. "I mean, ban Connect 3?"

"I'm pretty sure you did something related to sexual harassment, Shane," Nate said under his breath, shamefaced to even say it out loud.

"What did I do? I asked a girl out, that's all." I couldn't even really call it 'asking a girl out,' if it wasn't Mitchie. So really, it didn't even count by my standards. And I had really high standards.

"You're paying a girl to go out with you," Jason twisted my words and added in a few that didn't relate and belong. "If I didn't know you better than I knew the back of my hand, it would totally sound desperate, Shane."

I was nowhere near desperation. Sure, I was indirectly spending money on Mitchie, something she practically told me not to do, but I had to get her attention somehow. I had to get her to focus on me, and off that idiot, Rickshaw.

_Psh. Rickshaw. Sounds like some barn wheelbarrow. Which is probably where he came from._

"Um, gentlemen?" Natasha had returned to the edge of our booth table, and I had restored a newfound glare at Rickshaw. Quickly shaking it off, and ignoring the all-knowing looks of the people sitting across from me, I paid attention toward the waitress. In my mind, I was trying to figure out exactly how she could be of some use to me. "It's closing time, and the ladies themselves are about to take their leave."

With no initial intention of impressing someone like her, I took the leather folder she had in her hands and inserted my credit card into the flop. As she was taking it back, I couldn't help but notice the small snap she had her wrist. She avoided eye contact while she nodded, and came back in record time with the receipt and my credit card, prepared with a pen in hand.

I reached for the pen, but instead of actually handing it to me, she let it fall into my fingertips, without any form of physical contact. "Which one do I sign?" I asked, keeping my attitude level so that there'd be some form of common ground between us. The expectations that came along with the agreement were more than demanding for the both of us.

More from me, of course, since I had to change my entire being. The waitress simply had to just look like someone interested in me. And, all in all,…the idea wasn't going too well from the start.

"The one, Mr. Grey, that doesn't say 'restaurant copy' at the top," she replied too sweetly since the last time I heard her speaking so formally. I looked up at her, and there, on her face, was another smile. But instead of the predictable, monotonous one I was used to seeing, it had life.

A smirk, actually.

Jason and Nate stifled a snort from across the table.

Disregarding her little quip, I signed the receipt, adding on a few numbers for her tip. I expected for her to look over the amount once I gave her the receipt with an awed guise, but she lightly snatched it just the same as before and murmured a 'thank you,' and a 'have a good evening.' Her black mane of a ponytail whipped behind her when she spun around on the balls of her feet and disappeared behind a set of swinging doors.

She was going to be difficult. Whatever. A written check her way would change that.

But I'd deal with that later. Right now, I planned on catching Mitchie before she left the restaurant.

"Caitlyn!"

"Peggy!"

But it seemed like my brothers were way ahead of me on that one. They slid out of their booth seats and called those girls' names like they were on the other side of the world. They were only several meters away from where we were seated. And standing up with them from her seat at a moderately sized dinner table was Mitchie.

"Mitchie!" I called, not at all as loud as Nate or Jason was. _I think._

Walking swiftly around my brothers I met up with her, gleaming smile and all--_and Rickshaw_.

"Shane, hi," she greeted softly, feeling a bit uncomfortable standing in between a tense vibe. "Um, this is-"

"Brady," I interjected, holding out a hand. That was gentleman-like, right? "From camp."

"Yeah, but it's Brad, actually," he needlessly corrected me, trying to give me a firm handshake.

_I knew his name. I was great with names. Well, names that mattered, anyway._

"Sorry." Once I dropped my hand, I stepped closer to Mitchie. She chuckled uneasily, but at least she didn't move away. "So, camp's over. Why are you still here?" I asked straightforwardly.

"Shane," Mitchie whispered, widening her doe eyes at me. Her innocence pleaded for my compliance through her beauty. Her lips slightly pouted, the corners being tugged downward. Wisps of her bangs veiled thinly over her eyes, failing to cover up the disapproval expression.

I gave myself a moment for self-scolding. Pretending to cough into my fist, I continued. "I mean, what's…your reason for staying in town? Summer's almost over." It was hard to wrap my mind around that remark. Mitchie would be leaving soon.

"Oh, you know." Rickshaw casually shrugged. He then looked at Mitchie with a smile. "Sightseeing."

She returned him one.

"There's some really nice sights to see out of state," I told him, hoping he'd get the hint. "Or you could check out the mountains. I hear they're really something to look at."

"You mean the ones upstate?" _The ones in Alaska._

"Yeah, sure." I nodded.

"Um, Shane?" Mitchie nudged me with her hand. "Could we talk? Over there?"

"Oh, I was just going to head out," Rickshaw said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mitch?"

"Yeah," she unusually agreed. "Tomorrow." It was her turn to cough an itch out of her throat. "He's just a friend," she automatically said when she looked up at me with an innocent face.

"Weird, I don't remember you ever mentioning a Brad at camp."

"I didn't," she said, now fumbling with her hands in front of herself. "I didn't actually meet him until we met up here, at Mahogany Cork, during breakfast one time. Turns out he lives only a few hours from where I live," she said with a smile that supposed to be comforting. It was far from it.

"Oh, really?" I inquired for more information, but her nodding indicated that the interrogation had ended and she wasn't going to say anymore. Well, I had something to say. "You're not the only one who's made a new friend here."

"Oh, I know!" she beamed. She looked over her shoulder. "I think Nate and Caitlyn are adorable together. And Peggy and Jason-"

"No, I don't mean them," I interjected. Mentally, I slapped myself for that. "I meant I met someone, also." That statement was open to her interpretation, and I hoped she'd interpret that way I needed her to.

"…Yeah?" The small pause she had made me feel better. She seemed genuinely interested--and affected. "Who?"

"She's a really nice girl," I said, assuming, despite that girl's attitude a few minutes ago. "Really down-to-earth."

"What's, um, her name?"

_Shoot. What is her name?_ I dug in the back of my head, trying to recall that name back. It was embarrassing to display such a mental lapse in front of Mitchie. So instead of risking it, I turned around to look for that girl with the dark ponytail. "She's right…there." I pointed at the girl who was piling the menus in a neat pile at the podium.

She made eye contact with me, and she smiled. No smirk, no sign of emptiness. Maybe she'd seen the tip I gave her. She moved from behind the hostess' podium and approached us, still smiling.

"Hello," the waitress with the forgettable name greeted.

"Hi," Mitchie replied. "Didn't you wait on my table?"

"Yes, I did," the girl answered. "I waited on Mr. Grey's table as well." She gestured her hand at me.

"Mr….Grey?" Mitchie slowly turned to face me. She looked suspicious.

"U-uh," I helplessly stammered for an excuse.

"I just wanted to remind you two that the restaurant's closing up, and I have a lot of cleaning up to do. I wouldn't want to be in the way and make unnecessary noise while you talk," she tipped-off.

_What's-her-name was messing everything up. Right. I hadn't been clear and specific about the whole arrangement, so of course she'd be making a mess of things for me. Her fault, not mine._

"Actually, Mitchie," I said before the waitress could say anymore, "I'm going to hang back here for a while and hang out with…" Name, name. "…my friend for a few minutes."

"…Okay." Mitchie appeared more skeptical than before, but I didn't know whether her wariness was about the arrangement I had with the waitress, or the fact that I was staying behind and not leaving with her. "I'll see you another time then, Shane." Mitchie waved goodbye awkwardly to me, and I thought also to the waitress, but when I looked to my side where was standing, the waitress had left already.

_Where'd she go?_

* * *

**Natasha's P.O.V.**

"Freedom," I sighed, full of relief, as I took a seat at the bar in the back of the restaurant. Chase was wiping a wine glass with a clean cotton rag, and Charlie was leaning on the bar counter, trying to hide with her hand a large stain on her outfit.

"How'd it go with Popstar?" Chase asked, amusement settling on his blue eyes.

"Fabulous," I replied, rolling my own pair. "But I don't even know if this guy's serious."

Charlie shifted in her chair and slanted her body toward me. "He must be," she whispered, keeping her gaze on the counter. "He's making his way over here now."

My exhausted eyes popped wide and I sat up straight, alert. "Right now?" I whispered back.

"Right now!"

To certify, I looked around for anything glossy. My wide-eyed stare fell upon the glass that Chase was drying off, and sure enough, there was that dark-haired guy with a slightly bulbous head walking up right behind me.

"Didn't you tell him we were closing up?" Chase asked me.

"Yeah, and I thought he was going to leave," I whispered disappointingly.

"Hey."

I thought ignoring him and the possibility of him going away was the way to go, but Charlie's inner fan girl differed with me. She swiveled the barstool I was sitting on and forced me to make eye contact with the guy.

"Um, hey," I replied, feeling beyond uncomfortable.

"Come on, Chase," Charlie said. "Looks like they need to handle some business." She circled around the length of the bar and hauled Chase away. _She would_. It was just an undeniably way to be alone with Chase.

I saved my breath and didn't even bother to protest or call them back. It would be a waste, so rather than expending my time trying to deal with the impossible feat, I was going to the oxygen to good use.

"Forget anything?" I casually asked, clasping my hands onto my lap and smiling. _Would you leave already?_

"No," he simply said. I could tell already that he wanted to be here, standing in front of me and basically screaming desperate, just as much as he yearned for broken glass to walk on. Personally, I felt the same.

"Well, then let me show you out." I climbed off my chair and began to usher him toward the exit.

But he didn't budge when I nudged his shoulder with my hand. "I need to make a few things clear," he said.

"About what?" I hoped his memory had the same capacity than that of a rodent. The daft offer he gave me--which I foolishly accepted--seemed to mutate into something worse by the minute as I imagined…_dating _this jerk.

"First of all," he began, snubbing my effort to redirect things, "you need to get with the program. A.S.A.P."

_Excuse me? I was just given this…job a few hours ago, if anyone can really call it that. And you expect me to merely parade myself around you in a timeless blink? I don't think so._ "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey," I said. "I don't understand."

"That." He pointed his finger at me. It was one of those same fingers that dropped those coins into my coffee cup; that silver band of his was what gave him away.

"That, what?" Just as he did me, I flouted him by beginning my rounds about the restaurant. But I didn't expect for him to follow me.

"Don't call me 'Mr. Grey,'" he ordered me, having much difficulty pursuing my path around the tables. It wasn't my fault some kid had dropped more than a few crumbs under the chairs, which I had to conveniently pull out to clean the floor beneath. "Especially around Mitchie."

"I'm afraid that's part of my job, Mr. Grey, to address the consumers properly and courteously," I said, absolutely forgetting to push one of the chairs back in and blocked his way. I stifled a satisfied laugh.

"Do you always," he grunted frustratingly, failing at dodging the seat, "talk like that?"

"Like what?"

"Quit doing that!"

"Doing what?!" Annoyed, I whirled and came within a centimeter of colliding with him. Before I knew it, I was gaping at how tall he was. Tilting my head up was necessary if I wanted to make eye contact. Not that I was going to give him any since I felt he didn't deserve it.

"Stop reflecting the questions back at me!" he exasperated. "Can't you just answer yes or no to whatever I ask you?"

I scowled at him. _No--I just won't answer you._ I grabbed some of the dirty plates on the table beside me and huffed away from him, ebbing behind soon-to-be closed swinging doors.

As I clattered the ceramic plates into one of the many carts of used dining supplies, I pitied the person who had to load the huge dishwasher. Then I sympathized even more with the unfortunate being since he or she was going to have to hand wash the dishes later anyway; the dishwasher was nothing more than a extra counter to pile even more dishes on.

I worked my way around the kitchen, giving accolade to the cooks for keeping up with the hectic amount of orders. They simply nodded and flashed me a tired, but gracious grin.

I'd like to say they were sort of, in a way, my family at work. I'd like to say I actually enjoyed spending whatever time on my short coffee break chatting it up with the other employees that have been working at the restaurant for years now. I'd like to say how content I was with my surroundings, and how comfortable I was here.

_But I'd be lying._

If I knew what was best for me, I didn't allow for myself to become too attached to anything. Unfortunately, I had to go through about eighteen years of imprudence, caring far too much for someone I only lost in the end so suddenly, and I learned my lesson the hard way.

And I've ended up pretty well so far.

"Shay!" Charlie called from within the staff break room, which could've been very well passed off as a really large coat closet. "Your cell's going off!"

I jogged over to the foldable chair on which my hoodie was sprawled over, and dug for my phone in the main pocket. When I pulled it out, Melanie's number lit up on the screen. I had missed the call. And evidently, after observing the last few calls, I had missed six already throughout my busy day.

Panicked, I fumbled with dialing her number.

"What's wrong?" Chase asked, and it was only then that I realized he was in the same room. Charlie was standing behind him, while he was sitting down on another foldable. Her hands were on his shoulders.

"Nothing," I answered. Shortly after, I stalked outside of the break room. With everything going on, I was already too disturbed to even think of what those two were doing in there alone.

I was almost to the point of pacing out in the hallway before the first ring ever came around. At first, the hall was clear of obstructions, I could swear by it. But after traveling from one end, pacing back to other, I experienced an embarrassing collision that sent me on my back.

"Ow," I groaned into my now phone-empty hand, concealing my mortified expression.

"Is this what you do in your spare time?"

My eye almost bulged out of their sockets when I heard Shane's voice.

I hastily brought myself onto my feet. "What are you doing back here? You're not allowed in here!" I exclaimed, my voice cracking from the shock. "You're going to get me fired!" I spun him around and tried to shove him out.

"Please. I doubt you're going to get fired if I'm around. In fact, when I'm around people, they usually benefit from my presence, actually." But the guy was a rock, and I instantly considered him being just as dense as one. A boulder would be more accurate, though.

I sighed heavily. "Mr. Grey, this area of the Mahogany Cork allows only the staff," I informed him, "and customers are highly…recommended to remain in the dining area; it's for your safety, sir."

His eyes narrowed at me. _Huh. They were a light brown, almost bronze if that was possible_. "Does your manager provide you with some kind of book that teaches you how to speak so…?"

I blinked. "Urbane? Refined? Sophisticated?" I filled in.

"The third one," he decided. "You don't have to speak in your…weird language while I'm around you. And when Mitchie's close by."

"Yeah, because she'll be really interested in you when she finds out you're with some other girl," I mockingly muttered, accidentally letting my thoughts slip out. When I widened my eyes at him and clapped my hand over my mouth, much to my surprise, he looked amused.

"That's better," he approved. I'm not sure if he had any clue of being condescending with his tone, but he held that pleased grin. "And she will be interested me, for your information," he said matter-of-factly. "She'll see how gentlemanly I can be."

_Newsflash Popstar: You just knocked me on my butt a minute ago. _"I don't think being a…gentleman is one of your…talents," I hesitated, circling behind him, and recalled that night he had that outburst of a little stain on his precious pants.

"See, that's what I have you for." Like a ball and chain, he trailed behind me, relentless. "You are merely there as a person that I can…demonstrate my true quality on."

"And she'll get jealous," I assumed.

Shane shrugged, the movement of his shoulders making his leather jacket crunch. "That'd be a plus."

"Uh huh," I said. It was his every intention, there was no doubt about it. "Sure."

"So tomorrow, I'm going to need you to-" he abruptly began.

"Whoa, tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he said leisurely, looking at me like I was the slow one. "What's wrong with tomorrow?"

"I have work tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know. You'll be here. I'll be here. And Mitchie will be here." His face brightened at the mentioning of her name.

"Yeah," I echoed, "I'll be here, but I have to attend to-" I had to break off from waitress autopilot talk. "…serve other tables. I'll be busy."

"Can't you not serve them? At least while Mitchie and I have some time to talk."

"Um, see, I don't get my paycheck at the end of everyday, and I'm basically living on what I get every night from tips," I honestly had to point out. "So if you see my dilemma…" I passed through the swinging doors, hoping to have been overlooked by the wondering cooks and dishwasher, and began to do another route of cleaning off tables.

"I'm paying you, aren't I?" he said, still tagging along. "And I'm pretty sure I gave you about a few days' worth of tips when I paid the bill."

It was actually more than a week's worth, but I figured he had miscalculated with his mental math. "Listen,…Shane," I struggled to say, and he seemed be as surprised as I was when I said his name, "I'm going to try, but I can't guarantee you all of my time. There will be a back up of waiting customers, then there's going to be complaints about the wait, and then I'll get blamed for everything."

"And you'll be fired," he bluntly stated.

"Yeah, basically."

"Then I'll talk to the manager and have him work your schedule out, because-"

"No!" I protested loudly. Thankfully the room was empty. "It's already embarrassing enough as it is with me and a few other people who know about this…deal we have. No one else will know about this. _Ever_."

"Then, what? Do you want the money or not?" he asked candidly. "Because it's kind of already too late; I've introduced you to Mitchie as my 'friend.'" He put up air quotes. Honestly, he did.

I put back down the basket of leftover breadsticks I had picked up, and I shifted my weight to my one foot, my hand on my hip. I rose an eyebrow. "You don't even know my name."

"Sure I do," he scoffed. I was internally grateful to Derek for not splurging on embroidered nametags on our shirts. "Um…" he stalled.

"Natasha!" Charlie had immaculate timing with her call. "Your phone! It was on the floor, and it's Melanie again!"

"Natasha," Shane said in a light tone.

I sighed and shook my head. Leaving him at Table Eight, I retrieved my phone from Charlie and shot her a glare. She simply grinned back.

"I have a call to get back to," I told Shane as I advanced to him, feigning disappointment. "So if you could…" I fought the urge to disrespectfully shoo him away with my hand.

"Shane," I heard come from behind me. Shane peered over my head and his shoulders dropped, seemingly perturbed. "We are about to, uh, leave." I turned around and found one of Shane's siblings, the older one, standing at the front door of the restaurant.

"See ya," I immediately responded. My eagerness couldn't have been that obvious, I'm sure of it. "Have a good evening, gentlemen." I directed the both of them to the very opening of the restaurant, and anticipated the locking of that door.

"Hold on," Shane said, coming to a stop. "I'll meet you at the car, Jason," he told his brother. Jason nodded and exited, but not without glancing at me with a wondering look.

"What?" I asked, leaning against the host podium. I gave up on being so proper around him. Neither one of us liked it anyway.

"Just so I know this agreement is final." He reached for something inside his jacket and pulled out a checkbook.

"A checkbook," I acknowledged incredulously.

"Yeah." He flipped it open and jotted down quickly an amount. "Don't you have one?"

"I'm a waitress," I reminded him. "I may give the checks, but those are also known as bills in my language, if you must know."

He ripped out the check after making a fold at its perforated edge, and handed it to me. "Well, you'll be receiving checks from now on if you work with me." I didn't take it from him, rather he placed the check onto the podium. "I'll see you tomorrow, Natasha."

Shane finally took his leave without me ushering him out. I couldn't help myself and peered at the written check. My eyes were as circular as the zeroes I saw on the amount. Was he even aware of the number he scribbled down?

But I quickly shook the skepticism away and returned my attention to the new missed call. Melanie picked up, sounding a bit unnerved as usual whenever she did call me at work.

"Hi, Natasha," she casually greeted.

"Hey, Mel, sorry I missed your calls. What's the emergency?"

"Oh, well…it's not really an emergency," she wavered. "Not for you or your mom, anyway."

"What is it, Mel? Spit it out." I headed back into the kitchen, just when the dishwasher had been activated.

"You see…" her voice trailed off in the background of the deafening rumble of the dishwasher, but I heard her loud and clear.

_"What do you mean you can't watch my mom tomorrow?!"_

* * *

_(A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in so long. I've been working hard lately on finishing up with one of my other stories, and I've been extremely busy. But it's spring break for me right now, so this update would be my fourth one in five days. I don't know about you guys, but I'm proud of myself._

_I hope you guys are still interested in the story, though. There'll be a lot more funny moments between Natasha and Shane, I assure you. And for you Smitchie fans, I'll be including those events as well. So stay tuned!_

_Please review!)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Shane's P.O.V.**

"Hey," I said as I reached out to stop one of the waiters walking by, "is that girl who usually serves this area here today?" _Name, name._ I seriously need to carry a flashcard or something.

"Natasha?" the waiter clarified. "I'm sorry, I have no idea."

As soon as I released him, he darted off to tend to some less important tables. "Hey, I was not finished talking to you!"

"Shane!"

I cringed and slid back into my seat in the booth. Putting on my best innocent face, I turned to face Mitchie from across the table. She did not look pleased at all.

"Find anything you like yet?" I casually asked, dropping my interest into the menu and avoiding her look of condemnation. As much as I loved staring into those doe eyes, I could do without her constant disapproval and the look that went along with it. I had brothers for that. Come to think of it, I could do without them, too.

"Your time's running out, you know," Mitchie reminded me. "I leave some time next week, and I thought that…" she trailed off, shrinking into a shrug.

"Hey, hey," I said, sliding squeakily along the leather bench--not exactly the most flattering of actions--to sit beside her, "I'm trying, Mitch. For you, I'm trying to change."

As I wound my arm around her waist and pulled her in, she responded with tucking her head under my chin and pressed her ear to my chest. "Then why are you so interested in that Natasha girl?" she mused.

_Hook, line, and sinker._ "I told you she's a friend." Gently, I pressed my palm to her dimpled, rosy cheek and angled her so that our eyes would meet. "She doesn't mean anything to me," I whispered. "Just like your friend Brad. He doesn't mean…anything to you either, does he?" I refrained from using the word Crap. Though the name fit him perfectly, I could only assume Mitchie wouldn't like it.

I was getting better at this whole Shane 2.0 already.

"Mitchie!"

She gasped as opposed to my sigh. She had pulled away just when I was within centimeters from sampling her luscious cherry chapstick. "It's no one," I breathed, my hand still holding her in place for a kiss. I watched as her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth silently repeated my words, trying to let it sink in. "No one special."

"No one special," she echoed sheepishly, inching towards me.

I leaned in, and the supposed kiss couldn't be considered to be one by any means. My lips barely brushed against hers before someone rudely butted in. My money's on Rickshaw.

"Oh," he said. And if I wasn't one already, I'd be a rich man. "Am I interrupting?"

"What the hell do you think?" I snapped.

"Excuse him," Mitchie said. She pushed me away and edged out the booth. "You'll get used to it, unfortunately."

"I just wanted to tell you something, but if you guys are in the middle of something-"

"Why that would be just peachy, Bart," I growled. I couldn't help myself. It was like I have a mild case of Tourette's and my outbursts can never be controlled.

"Brad."

"Whatever."

"I can talk to you over there, Brad." Mitchie took his hand. "Shane can stay here." She pointedly glared at me with a frustrated pout. A shake of her head and she was marching down the aisle, Brad towing close behind. I noticed the smile on his face and, at the very same time, I wanted to wipe that crooked-teeth grin off his jaw.

Trying to do at least one thing Mitchie suggested I do, I planted myself in my seat. I just so happened to knock off a fork from the table with my elbow, and since practice makes perfect, I edged over the booth to pick it up. Being a talented musician and all, my ears were trained to have selective hearing. And hey, I was doing this dump a favor by trying to help clean up.

"So you know how I live a city or two away from you?" Brad asked from where I was eavesdro--_sitting_.

Mitchie nodded. "Yeah…" From where I was…not spying, I noticed that she had a small, curious grin despite the confusion. "What about it?"

"Now it's more like…a few blocks away," he said. "I just found out I'm moving out there last night from my parents!"

I almost fell out of my seat. _Wait--Rickshaw's…_

"You're going to my school?!" Mitchie squeaked in surprise. "Oh my gosh, that's great!"

"I know! Now we won't be so far from each other!"

Mitchie gasped, realizing. "Yay! My campmate's going to be my new classmate!"

"And you can give me a tour of the school when we get back," he pointed out, "so I won't feel like such a new kid."

"Don't worry." She playfully pushed at his arm, teasing. I'd love to give him a little push myself. "I may look small, but I can pack a big enough punch to be a bodyguard," she joked. "I am so excited, Brad!"

"Me too!" Brad's lanky arms widened, expectant.

Mitchie flung her own arms around his neck. She was spun around in the small two-by-two feet area in the aisle, but she looked like she enjoyed herself, enjoyed to be in his arms.

_Who knew? Mitchie, I now dub thee 'Tease.'_

Glaring, I gripped the fork and slammed it back down on the table. My teeth grinded together as I searched the restaurant for Natasha. And the only reason why I could pull her name out of thin air was because I was furious. I paid that woman, and where was she exactly to do her job? She had better not have taken the check and cashed it already, and made a run for it.

Ignoring the scenario going on off to the side, I left the booth in search of that waitress. A thorough scan of the dining area, and she was nowhere to be found among the other servers that wore an identical black apron. I figured she was ducking out where I saw her whenever she's not on her feet, at the bar, so I headed in that direction.

"Hey, Red," I called to the waitress of whom I remembered had ruined my pants with a spilled dish. Thanks to her, my pants are permanently stained with a palm-sized food patch. Not that I planned on wearing those more than once anyway. "Where's your friend? Is she in the back?" I traveled across the length of the bar and made my way toward the swinging doors.

"No," Red merely blurted out. Since she didn't even try to stop me, I figured she wasn't lying. "I mean, no, Mr. Grey, Natasha is not working today's shift. She has a family emergency that she needs to attend to, I'm afraid." Her fingers tapped against the counter unusually fast, the nerves just surging through her fingertips. "Did I mention that I'm really sorry about spilling food all over you?" she rambled.

Too livid to pay attention to her, I spun around and absently held my glare. _Family emergency, huh? We'll see about that._

"Give me her address," I demanded with my hand held out.

"I don't think she'd want to see your face at her doorstep," this random guy chimed in. He wasn't important enough for me to waste my energy and turn around, but I suppose it was that bartender.

"Who wouldn't want to see this face?" I challenged confidently. I curled and uncurled my fingers, still waiting for that piece of paper with waitress girl's address written on it.

Once I got the information I needed, I strode across the restaurant, back to my booth, only to find Rickshaw in my seat and sitting across from Mitchie. She was laughing when I approached the table. "Shane, what's wrong?" she asked, only now genuinely concerned, and shied away from Rickshaw.

"My friend," I gritted out, "Natasha--she's not at work today." _Doing her job that I paid her for. _"I'm…worried about her," I lied. "Mitchie, I know I promised you a whole day planned for you and me, and only you and me," I said slowly, pointedly glaring at Rickshaw, "but would you mind if we stopped by first?"

"Oh." Confusion dawned on her, and, shortly after, realization dawned on me. This little detour we had could work to my advantage. "Sure, I guess," Mitchie replied. "You know where her place is?" She peeked up at me, anxious to know if I held that kind of information.

"Yeah," I answered boldly, and looked down at the piece of paper in my palm. The address was all too familiar once I quickly skimmed it. Unable to keep my brow from knotting thoughtfully, I did a double-take. "It's…right across the camp lake."

**

* * *

Natasha's P.O.V.**

My eyes traced the engraving on the stone and all that it represented. A small collection of browning leaves rustled beside it when a light breeze swept by the area. The grass was just beginning to grow back a few meters over, a neighboring tombstone where the earth had been pulled up to house someone else.

Someone else lost their someone.

I rose my hand to grasp a handful of my--his old college sweater's hood and nestling it close to my neck. It carried the faint smell of tobacco and, if I focused hard enough, the pungent smell of hard work. I rested a kiss on the whites of my knuckles before releasing the jacket and resting my palm against the cold rock that was my father.

"I miss you." My voice was barely a whisper, but if I murmured any louder, my cry would escape from me. I needed to be strong. He would've wanted me to be strong; that's how he raised me. So I swallowed back that stubborn lump and walked back home with my hands fisted in my pockets.

I enjoyed that fresh air, but whether I was home or at the restaurant, I was constantly on my feet. It was embarrassing to even think what the soles of my shoes looked like. For months I've been wearing them out past tolerable condition, but as long as they kept my feet dry while it rained cats and dogs, there were here to stay. If anything still held some sort of value in my life, at least an ounce of value, I'd do my best to selfishly keep it.

It was still early in the morning when I went to go the cemetery for a visit. The birds' singing gradually became louder, the sun just touching the stretch of asphalt ahead of me before sinking behind the clouds again, and the gentle swill of the lake water up against the land--what I'd give to experience this everyday. The life that existed in this area had was amazing. And we were lucky enough to have all the land to ourselves, including the silence and privacy.

_CRASH_

For the moment, I had to strike out the silence, and be far more grateful for the privacy.

I ran the rest of the way to the porch of the house and struggled to unlock the door with all the haste and anxiety clouding my thoughts. Once I swung the door open, I found a piece of pottery scattered into even more pieces in the hallway floor. I crept over the mess and listened for any more hostility, but there was nothing--which made me only worry more.

My pulse quickened at the silence--not even a pitter-patter of movement--but then it slowed when I found my mother flipping through the large, thick photo albums. I put myself on guard since those memories could be the death of me, as Melanie and myself have experienced before.

"Mom?" I carefully said, acknowledging my presence. "It's me."

"Oh, sweetie!" She smiled brightly at me from her seat. She was angled in a way towards the other sofa, as if she had been already engaged in another conversation. "Good morning!"

"Really?" I mumbled, thinking back to the smashed clay vase. "I mean, good morning. What are you doing up so early, Mom?"

Her mouth opened, incredibly prepared to say something happy, until she shook her head and dropped her concentration back to the photo album in her lap, deconstructing her glow at just the same time. "I don't know."

But I did. I stood behind her while she reminisced on memories documented in the scrapbooks. She paused on a particular picture. She outlined with her finger his smile. "I remember Dad's head got so big when he caught that huge fish in the lake," I laughed a bit.

"Yes."

I knelt down beside her. "And it outsmarted him into thinking it was dead."

"It jumped right out of his arms!" We laughed, and it felt all too good. "I can almost hear him laughing it off," she sighed.

"Yeah." My head fell against the armrest of the chair, heavy with memories. "'It's the catch that mattered. I don't need a fish to prove it. Just take the damn picture,'" I recited from the top of my head, from what I remembered that day on the lake. The roughness of his voice was the sound I'd always fall asleep to when I was a child.

A frail hand tipped my chin up and I was looking into a set of deep blue, worn out eyes. The intent she put into the stare was overwhelming because I knew what she saw. I saw it every time I encountered a mirror or an object that could give reflection. My very own mother began to cry at the sight of me, and it killed me.

"Mom," I breathed, swallowing back that sob again. I stood and took the album away from her. Extreme caution needed to be taken with her now fragile emotional state. I hadn't given her medication yet.

"Phil," she whispered in a sharp exhale.

"Come on, let's get you back to bed." I avoided direct eye contact and led her safely under the covers. I laid beside her for a while, hoping that she'd be able to calm down without the help of drugs. But she just laid there, staring up at the ceiling while I patiently waited and combed back her hair repeatedly. "Go back to sleep, Mom, please."

She squeezed her eyes shut, but sleep was a far, far cry from now, judging by her pleading whispers for him to come back to her--To love her again, to kiss her again.

I would need to give her the medication.

I inched out of bed with much care controlling my movements. The floor boards underneath me threatened to reveal my actions with the groans and moans, but I was able to leave without being noticed. In the kitchen, I arranged a small portion of left over food from the restaurant for my mother to eat before swallowing a pill, or, if things were going to be difficult, I'd hide it in the mashed potatoes. The capsule wasn't very big, so just half a spoonful of potatoes would easily get that down.

I brought back with me a small paper plate of food and the pill and glass of water in my other hand. I hoped she would already be fast asleep so there'd be no fuss when it came time to feed her the drug while she'd be only half-awake. But when I arrived at the door, the covers were folded down and empty.

"Mom?" I called through the house. "Mom, where are you?" With a turn of my head, I dropped everything at the sight of the front door gaping open. "_Mom!_" I shrieked.

I bolted out the house and found her nightgown floating in streams behind her as she walked toward the main road. I screamed for her to stop, to stay where she was, but she couldn't hear me over her crying out for him. I reached her in time before she could even step onto the asphalt and dragged her back inside, absolutely conflicted on whether to be gentle or otherwise so I could get her back into bed.

"No!" she protested hysterically, struggling against my grip. "Phil's coming home soon! I need to meet him at the driveway. Let me--please, let me…" she sobbed. She harshly whipped away from me once she landed in bed and curled her knees into her chest, hugging herself.

I rushed back to the mess I'd left just a moment ago before my freak out and found the pill already melting from the water surrounding it. _Damn it, another wasted one._

Fumbling every step of the way, I grabbed another glass, filled it with water, and rattled the pill bottle to shake a capsule into my palm. All that was left remaining in the plastic container was two or three. I needed to cash that check and order a refill for her prescription.

As expected, there was a struggle in getting her to drink the medicine, but she eventually gave into exhaustion. I watched silently as she cried herself to sleep.

_Ding, dong._

My heart leaped out of my chest; I wasn't expecting anyone. A few measured steps and I was at the front door. My eyes widened when I processed the outline of the man waiting outside on the porch. I peeled back the curtain and looked even more carefully.

_Are you kidding me?!_

I swung the door open, but I kept my hand on the knob so I could enjoy slamming the door in his face. "You," I hissed lowly. "What are you doing here?! At _my _house?!"

"Why aren't you at work?" he whispered under his breath. "I thought we had a deal." He seemed fidgety. His eyes kept darting over to the side, like he was watching out for someone.

"Well, I'm sorry but I have to--"

"Hug me," he randomly demanded.

"Excuse me?" I rose an eyebrow.

He opened his arms awkwardly to me while he looked off to the side. "Come on."

"What?! No!"

He grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the porch. "Just a quick one."

I pursued his gaze and saw that Mitchie girl with some other guy. They were talking over by the dock. "She's not even paying attention," I pointed out, trying to wrench his hand off.

"Just hug me!" he exclaimed and yanked me. I collided into his chest and he strongly wound me into his arms. I tried pushing off.

**

* * *

Shane's P.O.V.**

"What are you doing? Let me go!" she yelled. I tried to muffle out her whining by holding her tighter. Tentatively, I peered over my shoulder and caught Mitchie snapping her concentration from where I stood. I smirked. "How dare you?!" she continued complaining, pounding her fists on me. _Yeah, like I'm hurting over here._ "Get your hands off me! Let me go, let me go, let me…" she trailed off, and I witnessed the unthinkable.

Her protests weakened, her sucker punches stopped. All of it--she froze and held still. At first, I thought she'd just get it over with and get payment later, but it wasn't until I heard a muted cry that I realized she was actually clutching my shirt, wrinkling my good shirt. She began to unravel before me.

"Shane?" Mitchie startled me from behind.

"Oh." The crying immediately stopped. "I'm…I'm sorry," she said shakily. I released her from my arms.

"Maybe Brad and I should go," Mitchie said. "Maybe we can reschedule the outing?"

"But-" I wanted to say, but I was cut off.

"And maybe Natasha, you could come?" Mitchie invited her, but I knew it was only out of courtesy. By the way she looked at Natasha, she was so jealous.

"Yeah, you should go with us," I agreed eagerly.

Natasha blinked. "Wh-"

"I'll take that as a yes," I said before turning to Mitchie. "You can take the car home, if you want. Just tell the driver to come back for me. But I think I'm going to stay here with my…friend." Usually, I'd hate the idea of sending Mitchie home with Brad, but I had to seem absolutely fine with it. Things were working out today.

"Huh?"

"Oh, okay." Mitchie nodded, picking up things much better than Natasha here. "I'll see you guys tomorrow then?"

I gathered her into my arms for a quick, but meaningful hug. "Tomorrow night. I'll pick you up."

"Bye Shane. Bye Natasha." She waved before climbing into the car. Rickshaw waved too, but whatever. I watched the car pull out of the rocky driveway and roll down the road.

"Okay, then. Bye now." I turned around to discover the door being shut on me.

"Hey!" I knocked on the door. It cracked open. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Natasha's gaze fell to the floor, actually contemplating over that. She had to actually chew over letting in the Shane Grey. "If you want to talk, we're doing this outside," she said. She made sure for the door to only open wide enough for her to slip through. She stood there, arms crossed, and waiting. "Yes?" she prompted.

"I don't know." I shrugged. "I just said that stuff to make myself look good. But I don't need to work that hard," I said pointedly, running a hand through my hair. "Now, about tomorrow."

"I don't think I can go. I have work."

"You do have a life outside of that restaurant, right?"

"I do," she bit back. "But that's none of your business."

"Well, it is for tomorrow," I replied. "Mitchie invited you, and it's only polite to come along."

"Only because that guy's coming, too, huh?" she accused. "That's why you want me to go."

"Yes," I bluntly stated. "I will pay you for it once the day's over." _Note to self: The talk of money kept her mouth shut._ "So, after work, you will meet with us outside the town's hotel. You know where that is, don't you?"

"There's only one hotel in town."

"Of course there is." I shuddered at the thought. "Well, meet there, and we'll have that double date."

**

* * *

Natasha's P.O.V.**

_Double date? A date?_ "Right," I snorted. Shane smirked to himself, something I was sure he did frequently, and then he turned to face the main road. Just when I thought he was going to step off my porch and not see him until the dreaded day tomorrow, he unpredictably veered toward the lake. "Hey! Where are you-" But it was already too late. He was headed for my dock.

He perched himself on the ledge of the pier, an uncharacteristic thing for him to do without scuffing his clothes, and leaned back on his palms to admire the view. It was…strange. "Did you know you live right across--"

"That obnoxiously loud music camp?" I said behind him, arms firmly folded across my chest. "Why, yes, I do know."

"Great music, right?" he asked, though I wasn't sure he wanted to hear my reply to his remark.

"Sure," I mumbled. I felt awkward just standing there, so I took a seat on the very far other end of the dock, away from him. From the corner of my eye, I saw that he was smiling to himself. He was obviously lost in his own little world. Why couldn't he do that on his own time? "Listen, why don't you go back to your hotel suite? Cab fare's on me," I offered freely.

He looked at me like I was insane. "Cab?" he repeated, intensely disgusted with the term. "No, I'll wait here until my driver comes back."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't you ever drive yourself?"

"Don't you drive yourself to work?" he deflected back.

"I don't have a car; I have a reason," I said.

"Well, my reason is because of the poor choice of cars in this town." He shrugged. "I can't be seen driving around in Toyotas or whatever cheap piece of junk. I am--"

"Yeah, yeah," I interjected, bored with the subject already. "Mr. Rockstar from big ol' Connect 3." I waved my hands in the air like I cared.

Shane looked at me, but without the look of disgust. It was more of…understanding? "Thank you," he said sincerely. "For calling me a rockstar. Most people would call me a popstar, which sounds wimpy and is not me at all. Idiots," he sneered. Apart from the gentle rippling of the lake water sloshing up against the wooden dowels of the dock, there was absolute silence. Until, of course, bleached-teeth blabber mouth over here just had to strike up conversation that I wanted no part of. "So what was that about earlier?"

"What was what?"

"Don't start that again," he complained. "The hug?" he curiously prompted.

"Oh." I fought the urge to look back at the house. It had been quiet for quite a while now. "Nothing," I said. "Just holding up my end of the deal."

"Ah." He nodded once. "And the crying?"

"I was not crying." _Mind your own business._

"I think I can tell the difference between crying and not crying. You were crying."

My jaw jutted out. If it hadn't been for the sound of a car pulling up to the driveway, I would've thought the grinding sound was my teeth. "I was not. And your car is here, so good bye, Mr. Grey. I will see you tomorrow."

He sighed, relieved as I was to leave. "I'd better see you tomorrow." He magically pulled a pair of sunglasses from his coat pocket, winked at me, and slipped them on. "I know where you live, remember?"

_Mental note: Murder Charlie._

* * *

_(A/N: So it's been pretty much two months since I've updated this story. Sorry! I guess I waited too long to receive people's feedback on the last chapter. A decent ten reviews isn't so bad. I'm shooting for above that number from hereon forth. But it's all up to you guys whether or not you guys like the story._

_Please review!)_


	7. Chapter 7

(A/N: So…like many authors on this site, I have trouble completing a project. Which is why I've come back to this story, despite the humungous hiatus, and will try to finish it. I've actually planned out the story as a whole, an outline you could say, but I never really filled in the details, so I apologize if things are suddenly put in fast forward. I'd just like to have another completed story in my books before I die, you know? Anyway, I hope you forgive me for this story's long wait, and enjoy!)

* * *

**Natasha's POV**

"I could kill you," I deliberated as I took my time with wrapping the last few steak knives in napkins.

"I'm so sorry, Shay," Charlie whined safely behind the dirty dishes wall. "But—"

"You just couldn't hold it in, could you?" I scolded. "Your inner _fangirl_."

She whimpered, and shook her head. "You know how I am with famous people."

"Please," I scoffed, "he's hardly a celebrity. If he was really famous, he wouldn't be a camp counselor at that place across the lake from my house."

"Let me make it up to you," Charlie offered, still cowering. "I can…do your make up for your date tonight!"

"It is not a date," I snapped. "Jerk's just using me to make his girlfriend jealous." Hearing the words come out of my mouth made me feel even more disgusting and lowly. But I was getting paid for this…

_Oh god, do I not have any self-respect?_

"Whatever. A date's a date." Suddenly brave, Charlie tiptoed around from her hiding spot and yanked me from the tableware prep. "You're just in luck, too, Shay," she said, eyes gleaming. "I just bought some new stuff from the drugstore."

I was cutting it close. Our agreement had me set to meet up for the double date—never failed to make me shudder—in half an hour, but due to tonight's shift, I was too exhausted to put any effort into getting ready. I found an old dress in the back of my closet, and jumped into it while I let Charlie go to work with the foundation and blush and lipstick. I tied my hair back into a simple pony tail and we were out the door.

Charlie dropped me off in front of the grand hotel in these parts of town, like she was my personal chauffeur. But she didn't peel off the curb without asking me to get an autograph from the rest of the bandmates, if they were there, too.

I rolled my eyes and entered the hotel in my old dress, mumbling a thank you to the doorman as I did. The funny thing was, I didn't feel so out of place when I stepped foot on the plush carpeting and underneath the chandelier lighting. The people that stayed here were the very same people who ate at Mahogany Cork, all dressed in their standard of dress shirts and skirts, which made me wonder.

Why didn't they just stay at the hotel to eat, rather than eat at some dinky place like Mahogany Cork?

"Right this way, Miss," an unsuspecting employee said, as if he knew me. He ushered me towards the direction of the hotel's main dining room.

And out of all the twenty or so tables, only two were occupied. I could see that business was truly buzzing over here…

The employee led me to one of the two tables set for dinner, and it was the table that Mr. White Pants was sitting at. By himself.

"You're late," Shane said without as much as a thank you or courtesy nod to the hotel employee.

I ignored his judging my outfit and sat down across from him at the table. Without hesitation, I smirked, "And apparently, so are Mitchie and Brad."

* * *

**Shane's POV**

"Yeah, _Brad_," I grumbled all the while glaring at the empty seats. "He had to take care of something, back at the camp grounds, so Mitchie thought it would best if we had our alone time while she went with _Brad_."

"Great," Natasha said, a little too brightly for my tastes. "So I can go. I'll call my ride."

"Oh no you don't," I replied firmly. "I paid for this reservation, and I'm not letting it go to waste. But don't worry, I ordered for you already so we can both leave as soon as we're done with our food."

She was so eager to make a run for it, but she stopped in mid-air, just about to leave the table, and slowly sat back down. She eyed me suspiciously. "This wasn't…a ruse, was it?" she asked warily.

"A ruse?" I mocked her, reflecting the question.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "I mean, you didn't set this whole thing up so that…you…and…I…"

I almost spat back into my flute glass. "You must be joking," I sneered.

She lifted a hand to her face, scratching nervously, actually embarrassed. "Well, I mean, if you look at how things turned out—"

"Don't flatter yourself," I said. The food arrived just in time so we both dropped our attention to our plates. "If I was going to take you out on a date, it wouldn't be at this dump. I was trying to be a little humble for Mitchie, so she could see that I've changed and blah, blah." I stole a glance upwards to see if Natasha was still deathly mortified.

"Plan worked out well," she said sarcastically, still rubbing at her cheek to get rid of the sheer flush.

It was amusing, seeing her fidget like that. Shane Grey's still got it. "At least I didn't wear a dress from the 90's," I said before taking a bite of my steak, which was tough and chewy. No wonder this place was empty. The food was a joke.

"This is my mom's," she said, suddenly defensive. "I think."

"Oh, sorry." I nodded. "So it's from the 70's. Should've guessed from the design." It was floral, which I didn't think would fit her, but it did. It kind of balanced out her attitude.

She returned the glare I was giving her. "You know, I really question your knowledge of fabric."

"It's vintage; I like vintage." I shrugged my shoulders. "And vintage just suits some people…"

She was about to taste the puddle of horribly looking pasta when she stopped short. "Wait," she said, a grin slowly appearing on her reddened face. "Was that a compliment?"

Taken aback, I cocked my head forward and retorted, "Are you seriously blushing? _Still_?"

"What?" She responded by craning her neck back and scratching her cheek again. "I am not blushing. Certainly not because of _you_."

"Then why is your face so red?"

Her scratching became more and more intense, and I thought it was because she was getting nervous. But when she held up a butter knife to use to see her reflection, she gasped in horror, "Oh my god…"

"Are you—are you allergic or something?" I asked. "You haven't even eaten the food, although I wouldn't blame you because it is just disgusting. I would rather go back to your hole-in-the-wall, to be honest—"

"Shane!" she yelled at me, for once using my first name. It shocked us both. Natasha grabbed handfuls of her dress out of anxiety before she shot up from her seat and grumbled, "God damn it, Charlie."

* * *

**Natasha's POV**

"Great first date," Shane teased as he aimlessly walked around the room while I got shots and pressed iced on my face. Here we were, out of all places, at the clinic. Why I put my life in Charlie's hands, I will never know.

"Swell," I agreed once more with disdain. "You really know how to treat a girl out. I feel like I should warn Mitchie about the great time she's about to have."

"Hey, I had nothing to do with your blushing and slow allergic reaction to looking nice."

I studied him, walking back and forth across the private room he had requested. I knew he didn't like the idea of sitting down on "sick people's" furniture, which could explain the pacing.

"You know, that sounded a lot like a compliment again," I pointed out. "You just said I looked nice."

"Oh, no," he cooed sympathetically. "No, no, you see, that must be drugs."

I huffed. "Just give me my paycheck for tonight and you can leave." I held out an expectant hand.

Shane gave me a look, and I could see the slow gears turning. Nothing good ever came out of that, I'd realized. "Half," he decided as he whipped out his checkbook. "I should really have you owe me for that horrible dinner—"

"You chose the place!"

"—and for this room—"

"I did not ask for this."

"—but I'll give this 'nice guy' deal a try, and give you half your earnings," he finished with a satisfied grin. I wanted to take my free hand and slap that grin right off.

"And when will I get the other half?" I asked.

"When this double date follows through," he answered. "And yes, that means we will have to do this again soon." His signature on the check gave him the cue to check out. "But, you know, without this hospital visit would be nice," he smirked.

Minutes after Shane's sarcastic exit, Charlie barged in. Practically on her knees again.

I knew it wasn't the best idea in my condition, but I lunged at her anyway. We were at a clinic already.


End file.
